


Heaven has been filled with silence

by woodland_elf



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Disabled Character, Hero Worship, Inquisitor Adaar - Freeform, Multi, Survivor Guilt, graphic depictions of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4344569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodland_elf/pseuds/woodland_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The explosion took her arm, her hearing, her memories, and dammit, they would close the Breach if it killed her.</p><p>---</p><p>Evelyn Trevelyan survived the explosion at the Conclave, but only barely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,  
> I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.  
> I shall endure.  
> What you have created, no one can tear asunder.  
> -Trials 1:10

The sky was green. 

It was the first thing she noticed, the only thought that rang through her blank mind.  Everything she knew, or thought she knew, was gone, somewhere she couldn't reach. 

In it's place was the knowledge that the Maker damned _sky_ was _green_. 

She recognized pain only after she saw the blood. 

Touch.  Warmth.  Pressure on her shoulders, hips.  Someone, someones, people were grabbing her.  Lifting.  Her eyes could not track them, they locked onto the green sky, the light that was not the sun, the one that spit fire and stone to the ground below. 

No sound came to her ears.  More of the same green light exploded in a shower of flame next to her and those carrying her, but while the bodies around her jumped, cowered, reacted, she felt nothing.  Is that a problem?  Should she be reacting like they were?  She didn't know.

She didn't know anything. 

Another flash of light, and she was dropped, and her body crumpled into a limp heap on the ground. 

She stared at the sky until feeling returned to her legs. 

 

* * *

 

Blinking, she rose, first rolling onto her stomach, then pushing herself up to her hands and knees. 

No, that wasn't right.  Hand and knees.  The blood and pain.  Her arm. 

Pain erupted from her throat as she opened it, expelling air and feeling her throat muscles vibrating.  The sight of the crater left at the bottom of her right elbow was enough to make her stomach turn inside out.  Strips of wet, crimson flesh and scorched skin flapped in the fierce wind and snow.  Someone had tied a strip of fabric tightly above where the arm receded into nothing.  The white bone of her left elbow joint peeked behind rivers of blood. 

The sleeve of her coat had been burned off, and her once-tan skin was red and angry, boils rising where the heat had seared it, blackened where it was worse.  Much of her right side seemed that way--down her leg, up her flank, the side of her head. 

Looking around, she saw a snow-socked land on fire.  Trees burned as more volleys of green fire fell from the light in the sky.  Around her, bodies lay, burned and limp.  She didn't know if they were unconscious, or dead.  Judging by the blood that turned the snow pink, she determined it was the latter. 

She rose to her feet. The tattered remains of her coat flapped in the wind.  Her leather trousers remained mostly intact , save where they had burned through.  At least her boots were still on. 

She figured she should be more worried about the missing half of her right arm, but couldn't bring herself to worry more.  If she died out here, then she died.  If there was anything she knew in her curiously empty mind, it was that there was no help for miles. 

Stumbling down the empty road, she scanned her surroundings for other survivors.  Survivors of what?  What _happened_?

Her arm was leaving a trail of blood behind her, and a sly, cynical part of her decided that at least someone might find her body in all this mess. 

She looked at the tear in the sky once more.  A green column of fire spewed and twisted straight down, towards a massive crater of smoking black rock.  More volleys of fire and stone rained down from the tear, causing explosions throughout the valley.  It wasn't right, that light.  It didn't belong in her world.  Her world and _that_  world were separated, protected from each other, by -  _what was it -_ the Veil. 

There was a breach in the Veil.  

It became the only thing she knew, the only thing she worried about.  Her goal was survival, and there was no survival with that thing in the sky.  

She began her trek towards the Breach, the column of green fire that threatened her world.  The road eventually turned away, but a frozen river marked her path.  The only weapon she carried was the dagger sheathed at her belt.  She was trained, wasn't she?  Where was her weapon?  What was it?

She stopped her trek to thump her head with her remaining hand.  Where was her mind?  Her memory?

The explosion in front of her threw her back on the ice, knocking the breath from her lungs.  She stared in horror as demons spilled onto the frozen river.   _Shades,_ a voice at the back of her mind told her.  

The shades caught sight of her, prone on the ice.  She reached for the dagger at her belt, holding it in front of her defensively.  There was no chance it could protect her from half a dozen shades, especially in her weakened state. 

Suddenly, a human, a warrior, ran past her from somewhere behind, sword raised and shield poised.  Another soldier ran past towards the shades, and then another.  She looked back to see a dozen more warriors running towards her, past her, to fight the demons.  

Another explosion rocked the ice, and she fell back on her ass.  A dozen more demons descended upon the soldiers.  A massive, hulking, burning figure of lava and brimstone rose high in the thick of the fight.  For it's size, it moved fast, tearing through the soldiers.  The rage demon came towards her, lifting, raising a a massive molten claw-

On instinct, she raised her right arm - the stump of what remained at her elbow, anyway - towards the creature, and a stream of ice exploded from her bare shoulder, down her arm, to the stump, until it formed the echo of her lost arm and from it, a blast of ice froze the rage demon above her.  

She watched in wonder as a sword came cleaving through the frozen demon, shattering it into a thousand pieces.  

The warrior before her aimed his sword at her in warning.  He was not dressed as the other soldiers were.  A large fur collar was draped over his shoulders, and his helmet was that of the head of a lion.  

She sat up, raising her hand and ice-extended arm above her head, to show she was no hostile.  It took a moment before she realized he must be asking her something, based on the way he gave his sword a little thrust after a long moment of stillness. 

Her mouth formed words she could not hear herself, words she thought she thought were forgotten. 

'I can't hear you, the explosion took my hearing.'

He pointed to the ice arm with his sword, giving another thrusting motion.   _What the hell was he asking?_  

'I'm a mage,' she said, 'but I can fight.'  The ice that covered her arm seemed to have stopped the bleeding, at least.  'Don't worry about the arm.  Just give me a staff.'

Her staff.  Where was her staff?  Lost in the explosion, probably.  It's loss could hinder her; a mage without a staff was like a warrior expected to fight with only their fists. 

The warrior gave a shake of his head, but motioned for her to get up.

'I want to help!'

He held up a gloved finger in his sword-bearing hand, then turned around to rejoin the fray.  She stood and gave a shrug of her right shoulder, testing the weight of the ice that covered her burned skin.  It was heavy, but not so much that she couldn't use it.  It had been her dominant hand, the one that wielded her staff.   _Who needs a staff,_ she thought.  

She thrust her hands at a nearby shade, freezing it solid.  The soldier fighting it cleaved it into large chunks, and gave her an appreciative nod. 

Quickly, she made a mental list of the things she knew. 

  1. There was a huge tear in the Maker-damned sky
  2. She was a mage
  3. She was missing an arm
  4. She was as deaf as a bat is blind
  5. She was somehow, miraculously, alive



She froze more shades for the soldiers to shatter, until she was so out of mana and energy that she fell to her knees.  One of the soldiers ran to her side, standing before her defensively, until the last of the shades were dead. 

The warrior with the lion helm stormed over to her, and the soldier defending her hesitated before stepping aside.   _He must be their commanding officer_ , she thought, _look at their body language_. 

He knelt before her and removed his helmet.  HIs blonde, curly hair was disheveled by the helmet's removal, which only softened his general appearance, despite his threatening mannerisms.  His cheeks were gaunt, like he hadn't had a proper meal in days, and dark circles hollowed his eyes. 

'Can you read my lips? 

She nodded, 'Yes,' watching his lips, the healing scar that cut through his upper lip, 'but only a little, speak slower.'

He turned to one of the soldiers, and she couldn't read what he was saying as he pointed at a pair of them and then back towards somewhere in the distance through the trees.  The two soldiers left towards wherever he pointed, and her eyes drifted up towards the Breach once more. 

He waved a hand before her eyes, then pointed to his lips. 

'We're going to get you to a healer,' he said, offering his arm to help her stand.  She took it, on shaky legs, and let him put her arm over his shoulders. 

'I want to fight!' She protested, wincing as he gripped her torso, his hand coming down on one of her burns. 

He shook his head.  With her left arm over his shoulders, her right arm hung limply at her side, weighed down by the ice.  The burned and blistered skin of her right arm couldn't feel the cold, but deep within the remaining bone, she felt chilled.  She would have willed the ice away, if it weren't for the fact that it was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out.  She allowed herself to be semi-carried by the warrior with the ridiculous fur pauldrons from the frozen river to the tree line.  The other soldiers followed dutifully behind, two scouting ahead. 

The trees gave way to a road, and a fortified bridge over the winding, frozen river.  The gates opened and more soldiers ran up to greet the party.  They moved and made way for her and the warrior, some giving her sympathetic looks, some turning away in disgust.  

A woman in red and white robes - a Chantry sister, the voice in hear head whispered - ran up to them, and took her from the warrior.  She turned back to look at him, and was interrupted when he pointed to his lips and spoke. 

'Sister Cadence will tend to your wounds.  Thank you for your aid.'

He fitted his lion-head helmet back over his head, and turned back to leave for the woods once again, his soldiers close behind.  

Sister Cadence guided her to a tent where shipping crates were made into makeshift beds.  The sister wasted no time in pushing her into the makeshift bed, and lifted, with no small effort, the ice-covered arm.  She seemed furious at it.  

Only slightly understanding why the sister was angry, she willed the ice to evaporate away.  Sister Cadence hastily removed the strip of cloth wrapped around her arm above the stump and applied a new tourniquet.  The sister nearly ripped her coat off, throwing it to the ground.  

Sister Cadence went about removing her ruined tunic and trousers, salvaging only her boots.  At first, she was stunned at the hasty removal of her clothes, until she realized the burns on her body were oozing blood and pus, and angry heat boils threatened to pop.  Sister Cadence snapped her fingers to her left, and a young mage boy in Circle robes appeared at her side, carrying a small metal tin.  He opened the tin, and began spreading it's foul-scented contents over the burns. 

A guttural vibration echoed from her throat at the feeling.  The slave was searing, stinging - this was supposed to  _help?_

Sister Cadence held her bare, non-burned left shoulder as she screamed and thrashed as the poor mage boy spread the salve over half her body.  Another sister joined Cadence to help hold her down as the pain made her spasm.  They removed even her smallcothes to reach more burns, and she tried not to die at the humiliation of being completely naked before the three others.  

When the mage boy spread the salve on her face, she side of her head, she realized the burning had enveloped her eye, and the whole time, she hadn't been able to see out of it due to the swelling. 

The sisters must have grown tired at her screaming and thrashing, because they reached for a small flask and forced her mouth open, pouring its contents down her throat.  There was a moment of confusion before her muscles relaxed, her eye closed, and sleep overcame her. 

 

* * *

  

She was warm when she woke.  Where her skin used to burn, all she felt was a light prickle, and a tightness around her limbs.  Raising her left hand, she felt her face - the whole right side was covered in cotton bandages.  Half her head where her hair should have been was also wrapped.  The rest of her hair had been braided, pulled out of the way. 

Where her right arm ended, the tourniquet remained, and more bandages covered her skin.  In fact, half her body, where her skin had burned and more, had been wrapped in the same cotton bandages. 

She looked around the tent.  It was dark now, and the only light came from a lantern hanging from the center tent post.  Two other makeshift beds were in the tent, and on them lay sleeping figures, as wrapped up as she was. 

She sat up with difficulty, leaning on her left arm.  A heavy wool blanket covered her mostly naked body, and a poorly-folded set of robes lay at her feet. 

Wincing at the movement, she swung her legs off the bed, and tested her ability to stand.  It took a moment to find her balance, but when she did, she limped forward a few steps, and took the robes.  She slowly dressed, hissing at the friction under the bandages with each movement.  Dressing was difficult work, considering she was missing an arm.  

Putting boots on one-handed was especially frustrating. 

She left the tent, finding night had blanketed the valley.  Despite the time, soldiers still milled about.  The Breach in the sky shined on, turning the world a faint, sickly shade of green.  

While she watched, enamored by the light of the still spitting Breach, she didn't notice Sister Cadence approach her until she gave her shoulder a light shake, and she watched her lips. 

'Are you listening?'

'The explosion left me deaf,' she explained, 'but I can read your lips if you talk slow.'

Sister Cadence's expression turned to that of pity, and she wondered how much of a sin it was to smack a sister of the cloth.

'What happened, exactly?' she asked her, nodding her head towards the Breach.

'The Temple of Sacred Ashes,' Sister Cadence pointed to the horizon, where the column of fire from the Breach met the ground.  'It was destroyed, and hundreds killed, including Most Holy.'  Sister Cadence bowed her head, rubbing at her eye. 

Her heart sank.  Most Holy - the Divine - she knew of Justinia, worshipped Justinia.  The Divine was dead?

'There was one survivor,' Sister Cadence continued, 'a qunari woman.  She - they say she stepped out of they Fade.  Some blame her for the death of Most Holy, for the explosion itself.'

She didn't know what to say.  She racked her brain, trying to remember what a qunari was.  

Sister Cadence placed her hand on her shoulder again, and stared in her eye. 

'You've been asleep a day and a half now.  Our poultices and potions have been working well, thank the Maker.  You are a lucky woman.'

'Thank you, Sister.'

'What is your name?'

She blinked.  Name?  She had a name?   _Of course you have a name, everyone has a name._ But what was hers?

Why couldn't she remember her own name?

Sister Cadence must have seen the panic on her face, because she took her hand in both of hers and squeezed, drawing her attention.  

'Don't worry about that.  You will remember with time.'

'What if I can't?'  her throat felt cracked and sore as she made the words.  Her face felt wet - it wasn't raining, was it?

'Then you start anew.  Pick a new name, and begin life again.'

'I don't want a new name, I want to remember.'

She looked back to the Breach once last time, and then let Sister Cadence guide her back to bed. 

 

* * *

 

 She rose with the sun, fully rested.  Sister Cadence made her take a health potion before changing her soiled bandages.  She sat in silence as the sister worked, staring out the open tent.  Soldiers bustled back and forth across the bridge, some injured, every other group looking worse for wear.  The Breach was unrelenting, spewing demons day and night.  How the soldiers could battle demons for so long, she didn't know.  How could anyone rest, or eat, while that thing was in the sky?  While the heavens were torn, the Veil open?

When the new bandages were on, Sister Cadence allowed her to dress once more.  The sister, bless her heart, found her a pair of leather trousers to replace her half-burned ones.  When she requested a mail shirt, the sister smacked her good arm.  

'Don't think you're going out there again, you suicidal woman.'

'Try and stop me. I'm fine, and they need help and I can help-'

'You are missing an arm-'

'That didn't stop me before!'

Sister Cadence pursed her lips and crossed her arms, a pose that wasn't quite as menacing as she assumed she intended it to be.  

Outside the tent, another group of soldiers passed, and she caught sight of a familiar lion helm.  She pushed past the sister and left the tent, calling out in no particular sound.  The warrior in the lion helm turned around, and once he saw her, he removed the helmet.

'What?'  he seemed annoyed, his brow furrowed and wrinkled, and the frown on his lip pulling at the healing scar. 

'Let me come with you, I can help fight the demons coming through the Breach!'

His eyes flicked behind her, and she turned to see Sister Cadence saying something.  Her mouth was moving too fast for her to keep up, the smart bitch.  

'Whatever she's saying, don't listen.  Look, I won't sit here on my ass while demons are falling from the Maker-damned sky, soldiers die, and I can do something about it!'

'You're deaf,' he said, his expression curt, 'you will be more of a liability than an asset if you can't listen to orders, or hear a warning cry.  Thank you for your help the other day, but you will stay here while you are _severely_ injured.'  He replaced the lion helm, and marched on with his soldiers across the bridge, towards the Breach.

She seethed.  So what if she was deaf - any help was good help.  She shrugged off the hand that Sister Cadence placed on her shoulder - she'd had enough fucking shoulder touches for a lifetime, and as far as she knew she had only been alive for two fucking days. 

Storming back to the healer's tent, she paced about the small space.  The two others in the makeshift beds were still unconscious.  They would succumb to their injuries soon - she had watched the mage boy change their bandages and seen the damage.  

One was a Ferelden scout.  She recognized the heraldry on the woman's breastplate.  The other was a large man, and the heavy armor thrown in the corner identified him as a templar.  

_This is a sin_ , she thought as she removed the scout's armor.  She took her chain mail shirt, leather breastplate, and reinforced pauldrons. Strapping everything on one-handed was hard enough.  Buckling the vambrace onto her left arm without a spare hand was nigh-on impossible, and she ended up using her teeth.  

At last, she finished, thankfully without interruption.  Her right arm was exposed, save for the bandages and tourniquet, but she figured that if she could re-create the spell that created the ice arm, that would be protection enough.  

The last things she took were a couple of healing potions she attached to the belt around her waist and the scout's helmet, and she ducked out the back of the tent. 

The first flaw in her plan was the fact that she was on a bridge with only two exits, and both of them were patrolled by soldiers and locked with a gate.  In Ferelden scout armor, it was likely she would be let through, if no-one noticed the bandaged stump of her right arm, or tried to speak to her out of her line of sight.  She was instantly thankful that she decided to grab the dying scout's helm, for it covered the bandages wrapped around her head. 

Just her luck.  A group of scouts were moving through the gates.  They were coming towards the Breach, instead of from, but she could still slip through and make her way across the frozen river. 

She made it past the gates before Sister Cadence could notice she was missing.  Running down the road, she didn't stop until the bridge was far behind, and she was well down the river towards the Breach.  Eventually, she came across another bridge, and she found the road once more.  

More projectiles came down form the Breach, crashing into the hillside.  Bright green light pulsed from the crater, and she saw her opportunity.

The ice came easily to her.  In her past, it must have been her area of study, for it felt like a comforting presence when the spell enveloped her arm.  Large crystals grew up her arm from the stump, and down, longer than her lost forearm.  It was sharp, and when she whacked it against a nearby tree, the ice didn't shatter. 

_Nice_. 

She scrambled up the slope, using the sharp point of the ice arm to dig into the hard soil for leverage.  She supposed she should be thankful that she had no staff - it would only be a hinderance one-armed.  Ice seemed to come to her easily enough without having to channel it through a staff, anyways. 

At the top of the slope, the remains of an old cabin lay in piles of rubble as soldiers battled a flurry of demons.  She couldn't see where they kept coming from.  Each time the soldiers killed the last demon, another set came flowing in from-

_Oh_. 

It was the same green glow as the Breach in the sky.  Smaller, though - roughly the size of a horse, if horses were amorphous bundles of shifting green crystals floating in the air, spilling demons into the world.  

She had never seen anything so wrong in her life, save for the Breach itself. 

A demon charged her, and she took action.  She used a spell - it came to her in an instant, a memory of a spell once learned - and stepped through the shade, now standing behind it.  The long crystal of ice at the end of her arm found its home in the heart of the demon, and ice spread through it from her frozen blade.  She pulled the blade from the frozen demon, and slashed it through, shattering it.  

The day seemed to get much better. 

Raising her left hand, she froze several shades ganging up on a dwarf with a crossbow, then moved to stab a demon overtaking a tired-looking soldier.  

An arrow flew past her eyes, and she turned to see who shot it.  A large woman with sharp horns, long silver hair, and dark gray skin was already drawing a new arrow and slowly eliminating shades.  She thought of what Sister Cadence had said, about a qunari woman who had stepped out of the Fade at the Temple.  The one they thought had killed Most Holy.  

She seethed.  

But as long as she helped fight, there was no point in getting revenge.  Yet.  

She froze more demons for the warriors to shatter.  A dark-haired woman with a heavy sword and shield swung her blade through one of the frozen demons, and spared her a narrow glance before turning to slay more demons. 

A bald elf she didn't notice before grabbed the qunari's hand and thrust it toward the rift.  Her hand glowed, and a stream of light connected the two, and a moment of stunned stillness overtook the battlefield before the rift exploded in a shower of shards and light. 

The rift was gone. 

In her relatively short memory, she had made it a life mission to close the Breach.  The Breach was wrong.  It didn't belong in her world.  The Fade and the physical world were never meant to connect, separated by the Veil.  The rift was an extension of the Breach, a fragment of it, another tear in the Veil.  And against all reason, this qunari woman, one who wasn't even a mage, just closed it with the now glowing green mark on her hand.  

The qunari was speaking to the elvhen man, the dwarf, and the dark-haired human, but she ran up to her anyways and thew herself at the qunari's feet.

She was nothing if not dramatic. 

'I don't know how you did it, but you closed the rift,' she breathed, her heart pounding so fast she felt it in her mouth, 'I swear to you I will pledge myself to aiding you close the breach if you will have me.'

This qunari represented everything she could hope for.  She was the cure, she saw that now.  While the qunari was no mage, she had the power, the gift to close the rift, and the Breach, where others couldn't.  This woman was no enemy of the Maker.  If anything, she was sent by the Maker himself. 

She looked up to the qunari's face.  The shock that was spread across the woman's face would have been comical, had she not meant every word of what she said.  She kept her eyes trained on the qunari's lips, awaiting her response.  Instead, the dark-haired warrior snapped her fingers in her face.  She looked to her lips next.

'Are you even listening?  Who are you?  Why are you talking like that?'

She hadn't realized her voice might sound weird to the normal-hearing kind.  She wasn't sure how to talk 'normal,' and she had nothing to compare her own voice to. 

'I can read your lips if you give me a moment to figure out who's talking,' she snapped.  She looked back to the qunari, 'I have never seen a sight as wrong as the Breach that killed our Most Holy.  If you can close these rifts, you can close the Breach, and I promise I will help you any way I can.  I cannot remember who I was, where I am from, but I know now I was spared by Andraste to aid you in your efforts.'

The qunari woman seemed to chew on those words for only a moment.  She held out her hand for her, lifting her to her feet. 

'You are a worthy fighter,' she said, 'I would welcome you at my side.' 

She felt a surge of pride and approval and bowed her head once, accepting. 

'What is your name?' 

'I don't have one,' she said, hiding her shame. But, she reasoned, it was better to embrace the fact than try to grasp at air. 

'We'll have to change that,' the qunari gripped her left elbow with her right hand, the marked hand, and she returned the favor. 'You may call me Adaar.  I am pleased to meet such a talented mage as yourself.'

She flicked her eyes in time to see the dark haired warrior exclaim in frustration 'She doesn't have an arm and she is deaf what do you think you're doing' before the dwarf stepped in and clapped her on the back. 

'I'm Varric, and this is Bianca.'

She looked to the bald elf, who gave a curt bow. 'If introductions are in order, my name is Solas.'  He spoke such that his mouth moved very clearly for her, and she was pleased to see someone so accommodating for her deafness. 

Finally, she looked to the dark haired warrior.  She scowled, and slowly moved her lips, 'Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.  You're not really a Ferelden scout, are you?'

She would have explained herself, if Varric hadn't grabbed her arm and exposed her left wrist.  There, on the inside, was a black symbol tattooed, of an open circle. 

'Look at that, Seeker.  She's from the Ostwick Circle, the only one to brand their harrowed mages.  Now give it a rest, she's powerful.  And an ally.  Look at the bandages, she's been with us while.'

Seeker Cassandra huffed, raising her shoulders, and turned to descend down the hill towards the river.  She looked to Adaar.

'Well, come on then.'

They followed Seeker Cassandra, and she shook with glee as she joined them. 

They descended the hill and followed the river until they found the road once more.  There was a scattering of wisps and shades as they proceeded forward, and they fought hard, but successfully, against them.

The warrior with the lion helm was wrong.  He said she would be a liability in a fight, when she greatly improved their offense.  She used Fade-step to come to her ally's aid, and while she was deaf, the flow of battle allowed her to feel the pulse of the Veil; her and Solas' spells; the shock of air that came with each arrow volleyed by Varric and Adaar.  She was more aware of her surroundings than he thought.  She would show him, Sister Cadence, everyone - she can fight.  She can help. 

They reached another fortified bridge, and Adaar closed another Fade rift.  Her heart leapt for the qunari as she did it, pleased to be fighting at her side. 

As they crossed the bridge, she watched as Seeker Cassandra and Adaar spoke to a red-headed woman and an angry Chantry chancellor.  They spoke too fast for her to keep up.  She looked to Varric and Solas, who watched the scene before them with careful observation.  Varric seemed to scowl at something one of the four said - was it Adaar? - and their party continued forward, joining a group of soldiers as they followed the road in the valley towards the Breach.

There were so many demons.  After so many ice spells, she felt weary, drained, and Solas appeared behind her, a phial of something blue in his hand. 

'Lyrium. Drink it.'

She recognized the blue liquid, and broke the seal and downed the phial.  Feeling her mana surge, frost and ice coated her armor and skin, a protective layer that soothed her jumping nerves.  She launched herself at a demon, ice-sword poised, slashing through the demon's midsection. 

Some of the soldiers did a double-take when they saw her, covered in ice, a sword made of ice in place of her arm and wielding no staff.  She didn't blame them.  If she really did come from a Circle, then her abilities were far beyond any other mage they had seen before. 

They came upon a rift, and many tired soldiers battling the demons that came spilling from it.  She Fade-stepped through a rage demon and froze it from behind.  As she thrust her ice-sword through it's frozen body, a sword came through from the other side.  The demon cracked, shattered, and standing before her was the asshole warrior, lion-helm and all. 

She gave him no time to react, as she froze a shade that came up behind him.  He whirled, slashing his sword through it, and cut the shade in two, killing it. 

She looked up as Adaar closed the rift, and the demons were gone.  

The lion helmed warrior strode over to Seeker Cassandra and Adaar, and removed his helmet.  She followed them, standing a bit behind, watching their lips. 

'This is the prisoner's doing.'

'Is it?' the warrior asked, 'I hope they're right about you, we lost a lot people getting you here.'

Adaar said something a little too fast for her to pick up on.  The lion-helmed warrior left, sparing her a warning glance, and retreated to aid one of his injured soldiers. 

Adaar and Seeker Cassandra led them down the slope, and in the distance, she saw it.  The Temple of Sacred Ashes, or at least, what was left of it anyway.  The explosion had created a crater bigger than anything she had seen before.  The Breach loomed high above, its column of fire swirling, twisting, down to the heart of the temple.  The red-headed woman ran to catch up with them, bow slung on her back.  She spoke quickly to Seeker Cassandra and Adaar, and they made their way through the rubble to reach the heart.  Red crystals sprouted from the ground, and for a moment, she imagined she heard something though the thick silence, something like a faint hum.  Looking around to the others, she saw their faces were all stern, while Varric's was ashen. 

They all seemed to jump at something, and Adaar and the others looked around, up, to the side, at open air.  She didn't know what they were reacting to.  She looked to Solas next to her.  He saw her confusion. 

'A voice is coming from the rift,' he pointed at the center of the crater, 'an echo of a memory' he explained.  'Adaar's echo is here, as well as Divine Justinia's.' 

Most Holy - they were hearing Most Holy's voice?   _Did she live?_ No _,_ an echo he said, a memory.  From the rift - from the Breach. 

She never wanted it more gone than she did now. 

They descended into the bottom of the crater, a massive depression in the heart of the temple.  She saw the echo of Most Holy, Adaar, and a presence, a shadow she didn't recognize.  

Seeker Cassandra raised her sword, pointing it to the archers around the pit, and Adaar raised her hand, poised to re-open the rift.  With the others, she prepared herself, raising her ice sword as a fresh layer of frost coated her armor and skin.  

Adaar opened the rift, and the largest demon she ever saw came thundering through into the world. 

A moment.  She allowed herself a moment of fear before steeling herself, and throwing spell after spell of ice at the hulking beast's feet. 

But the ice would only hold for so long, and the demon seemed barely phased by it.  Adaar kept disrupting the rift, thrusting the mark at it, trying to close the damned thing. 

Smaller demons came spilling out of the rift.  She threw ice spells at them in an effort to keep them off of Adaar and the other soldiers fighting the demon.  When they were gone, she turned her efforts back on the massive demon, forming ice at its feet, its head, anything - it just broke the  ice and continued throwing the soldiers back.  

She moved closer to the demon in an effort to increase the concentration of the spell.  She could feel her mana draining as she poured her energy into the ice spell at the demon's feet.  It was a success - the demon stayed, legs frozen in place, and the warriors finally had a window to put it down.  

Until the demon swung its massive arm, throwing her back, where she knocked her head - 

 

* * *

 

She came to when Seeker Cassandra shook her.  She blinked her good eye, feeling a dull pain burning at the back of her head.  

'Are you okay?' Seeker Cassandra asked, looking her over for injuries.

'Headache of the century,' she griped, 'but I'm okay.  Is it dead?'

She nodded.  'The demon is gone.  Adaar closed the rift.  She is unconscious - the mark nearly killed her.  But the Breach remains.'

She looked up to where the Breach continued to rain fire, swallowing the sky.  Her throat tightened, and she looked back to Seeker Cassandra. 

'We're retreating to Haven.  We've done as much as we can here, we need a different plan for closing the Breach.  Come, you probably need a potion.  And a meal.'  She let Seeker Cassandra pull her to her feet, and accepted the flask of healing tonic. 

'Seeker Cassandra-'

'Just Cassandra, please, it is much quicker.'

'Cassandra,' she continued, 'If Adaar couldn't close the Breach-' 

'She will.  Worry not.  We will find a way.'  Cassandra turned, and began directing the remaining soldiers, archers, and the healers carrying Adaar's body on a stretcher out of the Temple and down the road to Haven.  

She looked back to the Breach, spitting fire.  They would close it.  They had to.  The explosion took her arm, her hearing, her memories, and dammit, they would close the Breach if it killed her. 


	2. The Threat Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And no longer was it formless, ever-changing,  
> But held fast, immutable,  
> With Words for heaven and for earth, sea and sky.  
> At last did the Maker  
> From the living world  
> Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth,  
> With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear,  
> Endless possibilities.  
> -Threnodies 5:6

Cassandra had her set up in one of the many tents by the stables, and all but ordered her to see a healer for her wounds. She was there, her body being slowly unwrapped, when Adaar emerged from her cabin.  She watched the woman walk through Haven in a state of confusion, towards the Chantry, where Cassandra and the red-headed woman kept going in and out of for the last three days.

The healer was not very gentle with her as he unwrapped the bandages over her burns.  She half-worried she might leave the tent in a worse condition than she came, though she knew the reason.  Many more soldiers and civilians were injured and needed tending to, and the only reason the healer even looked in her direction was because Cassandra very nearly threatened him until he gave in.

When the bandage covering her eye came away, she was surprised she could even still see out of it.

The healer told her she could keep the burns unwrapped for awhile, to let the skin breathe, then wrapped the open wound at the end of her right arm.  He dropped a heavy cloak around her shoulders while she sat nude, devoid even of smallclothes that would cover burns on her hip and ribcage, while he moved on to work on his other patients.

An hour passed, and she grew bored. She made snow with her breath, taking comfort in even the smallest of ice spells.  Tiny flakes danced through the air off her tongue, and she went cross-eyed as she watched them dance before her eyes in the gentle breeze that flowed through the tent.

A shadow fell across her legs.  She looked up, and saw Adaar there, smiling.

'How are you doing?'

'Alright, considering,' she motioned to the right half of her body, grinning just enough to make the statement lighthearted. 'I may also need some clothes.  Namely, smalls.'

A thought crossed Adaar's face. 'I can find you something.  Sit tight.'

She'd been doing a lot of sitting around half-dressed lately, it seemed.  Something, and old instinct perhaps, told her to be more modest: cover up more, hide your body; nudity is unaccepted here. _Fuck that, and fuck you,_ she thought. The cloak was plenty warm, despite leaving her legs and her chest bare.

While Adaar was gone, several people passed by the open-walled healer's tent.  She mostly saw soldiers, scouts, and agents.  The Inquisition, Cassandra had called it, grew with fervor after Adaar's display at the Breach.  Some called her the Herald of Andraste, sent to save them.

She believed it.

Every moment she had spent with Adaar, she'd grown fonder of the woman and her abilities.  She saw the Maker's grace in her.  It didn't matter that she was Qunari - they were all the Maker's children, even if they didn't exactly look like each other.

As she stared out the open side of the tent, she saw the lion-helmed warrior pass by - sans his lion helm and looking much less threatening for it - and caught him glance in.  HIs eyes met hers, and when she gave a little wave, he seemed to notice her lack of clothing, turned as read as his coat, and hastily walked away.

She couldn't help but laugh at that.

Adaar returned, the red-haired woman in tow. Both carried a bundle of items, including a staff.

'This is Leliana,' Adaar presented the red-haired woman, 'she found these for you.'

'Thank you,' she nodded her head in Leliana's direction. The older woman smiled, and set on the table by her cot a green cotton shirt and single-sleeved chainmail tunic. Adaar presented her with a hard leather pauldron and matching vambrace, as well as a thick fur collar, braided leather belt, set of smallclothes and a breastband, and a staff, fit with a blade.

She was humming with approval.

'I've seen what you can do with that arm of yours,' Leliana gently tapped her right arm, 'I thought you should have armor to accommodate your abilities.'

Adaar pressed the staff into her hand. She ran her thumb over the smooth wooden grip, and felt her magic thrumming, ready to channel itself through the staff.

'I can't thank you enough,' she began, 'the Inquisition has given so much to me, and you don't even know who I am.'

'You are one of us,' Adaar took her hand and squeezed it.  Leliana touched her right shoulder, and ducked out of the tent.  'Given any thought to a proper name yet?'

Her eyes lingered on Adaar's lips, and she shook her head.

'I can't just give myself a name.  Whoever I was, I clearly had one, and I want that back - I want my _memories_ back.  But I don't know where to begin.  I have nothing of who I was, no possession or identifier.'  Save, of course, the brand Varric had pointed out, the one that marked her as a member of the Ostwick Circle of Magi. _That_ she did not want to revisit. If she were a rebel mage, certainly some of the templars here would not be so genial to her as they would the "loyal mages," or even the apostates that had pledged themselves to the Inquisition.

'Well, I can't keep calling you by Varric's nickname for you.'

'Varric nicknamed me?  Wait, you've been calling me by a _nickname?'_

'Yeah, back at the Temple he called you Frosty and it sorta stuck.'

'He _what_?'

* * *

 

The healer returned after Adaar left, and only grunted when he saw her pile of things on his table.  He directed her to spread the burn salve on herself while he dealt with a frostbite victim who had just arrived in Haven.  Then, he wrapped her back up with fresh bandages. _At this rate_ , she thought to herself, _I'll have used all the Inquisition's bandages for myself._

She dressed in her new clothes in blissful peace, relishing in the feeling of decent cotton smallclothes between her sex and the crotch of her leather trousers.

Her boots, again, were difficult to pull on. Why past-her thought thigh high boots were a good idea, she couldn't fathom.

The green shirt Leliana brought her had no buttons, and seemed to have no discernible top or bottom.  Pulling it on over her head was too much of a stretch for the bandages, so instead, she pulled off her boots (with some small heartbreak) and stepped into it, tugging it with difficulty over her thighs, hips, and arse.  It fit under her armpits, over the top of her breastband, and synched closed with a buckle to keep from falling.  She tucked the bottom into her trousers.

She chewed on her lip looking at the chainmail tunic. There was no right sleeve, and it followed an asymmetrical line from what must be underneath the right armpit to the collarbone of the left shoulder.  Buckles appeared to be what kept the tunic closed on either side of her body.  She unbuckled the tunic and shuffled into it, surprised at its weight.  The front fell as low as the apex of her trousers, while the back fell down in two tails that ended at the back of her knees. Fastening the buckles one-handed was easy enough. 

She wrapped the belt around her waist, synching in the chainmail tunic.  After she buckled the vambrace around her forearm with her teeth, she strapped the pauldron around her upper arm and fastened the fur collar to the strap across her breast that secured the pauldron.  The fur collar was especially nice for keeping her neck, shoulders, and back warm, as the cream-colored fur descended like a capelet to her mid-back.

She pulled her hair out of the braid it had been stuck in for a few days too many, and let her brown hair fall in wavy locks down her left shoulder.

Finally taking up her new staff, she emerged from the healer's tent.

Haven was beautiful.  A small village surrounded by snow and mountains, it was the very image of homeliness.  The only thing that spoiled it was the green tint that the Breach gave the snow and light colored stones. 

Adaar would be in the Chantry all day with Cassandra and Leliana, busy with matters of the Inquisition. 

She didn't particularly feel like chatting with Varric, whom she couldn't quite forgive for calling her "Frosty," or Solas. Shifting the weight of her staff in her hand, she realized how awkward fighting with it would be - her dominant hand was lost somewhere in the valley, and her left hand loosely, awkwardly clutched the wood grip.

Striding down the path, she made her way out of the main gates past the stables and the tent she called home towards the training yard.

Cassandra wouldn't approve of her destroying the training dummies, so she walked further, towards the lake, where a dead tree stood apart from the others.  She walked around the tree, feeling its trunk with the back of her hand. The wind and weather had long since stripped the bark, and the wood was smooth to the touch.

Walking backwards twenty paces, she attempted to cast a fire spell.  She had to have known one at some point in her life; it was basic knowledge, despite not coming to her as easily as ice did.

Giving the staff a thrust, nothing came. She tried turning the staff, and instantly dropped it, having lost her grip.

_Maker's balls_ , she cursed in her mind, while the growl she felt in her throat grew.  Bending down, stretching the tight bandages, she picked up the staff once more, and tried the spell again. 

Mages were supposed to have two hands, after all, and so wielding a staff with just one - and not her dominant hand at that - was impossible work.  First, she tried simply sticking the tree with the bladed end, and couldn't even do that.

After hours of endless frustration, her wrist ached something awful, her stomach rolled in hunger, and the sun began its slow descent over the mountains.

In a fury, she threw the staff into the snow, letting loose what what she knew was a horrific, guttural shriek.  Raising her right arm, she threw an ice spell at the tree, encapsulating it in several inches of ice.

When she turned to pick up her staff, someone else was already there.  He held the staff in his gloved hands, examining it, holding it like it was coated in poison.  She scowled when the scar on his lip pulled as he spoke.

'Why even use a staff?' his genuine curiosity did nothing to lessen her general frustration.

'Why use a sword when you can just punch a demon into nonexistence?'

She really hoped that sounded sarcastic. Not being able to hear her own voice certainly took away from her newfound attitude.

She nearly tore the staff from his hands, clutching the grip with more fervor than was healthy for her already sore joints. When she moved to walk past him, dinner on her mind, he stepped in her way again, and she reluctantly looked to his lips.

'I never did thank you - for having my back, I mean. That day on the battlefield.'

'I would have done it for anyone.  Although, I do recall someone telling me something, what was it?  Oh yes, that I was a liability?  That I would hurt more than help?  Now who could that have been?'

His posture changed, taking a more defensive stance. His jaw clenched, but his ears flushed red with shame.

'Excuse me,' she said, looking away from his sheepish face, and nearly ran back to the tavern inside Haven's gates, trying to shake the strange aura he gave off.

At the tavern, she found Cassandra and Adaar eating together, slightly apart from the rest of the boisterous crowd. She took a bowl of whatever the night's slop was, and a hunk of bread, and seated herself next to Cassandra, across from Adaar.  She'd begun eating in silent fervor, and took several moments to notice Adaar waving her hand in front of her face.

'I said, how's that staff treating you?'

She shook her head, 'If only I could actually hold it. I may have to re-learn everything that goes against muscle memory.'

'That's no good.  We're headed to the Hinterlands next week and I was rather hoping you could come along.'

Her back straightened, and she pressed her fist to her chest.

'I'll be ready.'

* * *

 

Four days later, she was nowhere near ready.

Her arm ached something awful, and her mana was so depleted by the end of each day she barely had the energy reserves to eat dinner at the tavern and make it safely to her tent just outside the gates to Haven.

All day long she practiced, rising with the sun, dressing as warmly as possible (Varric brought her a warm woolen cloak as a peace-offering for calling her Frosty) and striking at the dead tree with basic attacks from her staff, moving on to more complex spells that required more concentration and skill.  Ice was still default to her, the element that came out of her staff when her frustration got the better of her. 

She had to drastically adapt what her muscles remembered into something she could use.  Dual-handed strikes were not an option, and after a very disastrous, failed attempt to hold the staff in an icy grip on her right side, she set out to test new, one-handed forms.  Solas scolded her for overextending her wrist the day she passed his cabin to bother the apothecary for a pain reliever.

Adaar was the only one to come observe her practice from time to time.  She would arrive in the clearing, standing off to the side, her hands clasped firmly behind her back, her eyes calculating.  She'd stay only a minute or two, offer her words of encouragement, and leave. To her immense pleasure, no-one else bothered her practice, not even the lion-helmed warrior (when Cassandra revealed, one night at dinner, that the irritating fur-wearing man was the Commander of the Inquisition's Forces, she choked on a piece of druffalo meat).

By day six, the day before Adaar left for the Hinterlands, she was ready to snap her staff in two out of frustration. Learning a form in one week was not meant to be done, much less a full plethora of mage's battle forms, spells, all with one hand, completely self-retaught.

She deserved a damn award.

That night, while Adaar and Varric were drinking in the tavern with some of the templars, she borrowed a fire staff from the 'armory' and went back to her bark-stripped tree.  Though the staff Adaar brought her was an ice staff, and should Adaar allow her to come, she would bring the ice staff, her own personal quest brought her the unrelenting desire to be able to cast more than the basic fire attack.

Fire was not her friend.  While ice was slow, cool, patient, fire was quick and consuming.  Fire destroyed while ice kept.  When fire burned, took away her arm, her skin, ice healed, soothed her, a friend in the unknowing.  Ice was her friend, and fire was her enemy. 

Of the little she knew about herself, she knew that much.

She wanted to wield flame.  Oh, how she wanted to lash out in fury, rage, lose her temper to the point of destruction.  All this she wanted, _needed_ , yet could not summon.

Attempt after attempt, the immolation spell would not to respond.  Her fury seized her, frustration overcame her, but nothing released.  It sat inside, passive, spreading irritation and poison through her limbs to her fingertips, her toes. 

She dropped the fire staff and froze the tree in a massive crystal of ice, defeated.

* * *

 

Someone was in her tent.

From under the furs, she peeked out with one eye, the other still covered by a bandage.  The healer changed them the morning before, pleased at her healing process but grieved by the knowledge that her skin would be a patchwork of bumpy, red, knotted flesh for the rest of her life.  She made peace with that.  She didn't know what it was like before, anyways.

It was too dark to see inside the tent, and she couldn't well hear who it was.  Leaning back on her stumped arm, she reached for the back opening of the tent, where it faced the wood and stone wall that surrounded Haven. 

Pale blue morning light spilled in, illuminating Adaar's face.  How the massive woman managed to fit in her tent without also crushing her, she didn't know.

'Are you ready to go?' she asked.  Adaar was dressed head to toe in her leather and platemail armor, her bow and quiver missing from her back. 

'To go - are you serious?'

'Where's your - on Andraste's tits Frosty you're not even packed.'

'Don't call me Frosty, and why would I be going? I'm not ready, I can't even conjure a fire spell, and my staff work is laughable.'

'I can't use a dagger to save my life but is that gonna stop me? Come on, have a little faith.  Pack your shit, we're leaving in two hours.'

With that, Adaar disappeared out of the tent, and she was left reeling.

Taking a moment, she rubbed her good eye, clearing it, and let out a heavy breath.

She dressed, only slightly mortified at the knowledge Adaar had entered her tent while she slept completely nude.  A week gave her practice in dressing in her armor in just fifteen minutes, though the vambrace on her arm still took difficulty to secure with her teeth. 

After wrapping her fur blanket in her bedroll, and tying that closed with some leather cords, she took the canteen of water nicked from the tavern and empty leather pack Cassandra gifted her.

(She could not help but notice the admiration written across the woman's face when she presented the pack to her two days after Adaar woke up.  She had gone so far as to point out the loop of leather that held a mage's staff. She was sure the gift was to make up for their earlier distrust, though something hopeful in her wondered if it was in encouragement to come on the Hinterlands expedition.)

In her new pack, she stowed what few belongings she was rationed since coming to Haven: a bar of soap, a roll of cotton bandages, a flask of wine (courtesy of Varric), a few droughts of lyrium, and a cloth for washing.  She had yet to acquisition a comb for her hair, and after a rather frigid attempt at bathing between bandage changes, she braided her hair back and let it dry that way.

At last, she strapped her bedroll to the pack, clasped her cloak around her neck, picked up her staff, and stepped out into the morning light.

With the gate to Haven and the stables to her left, across the road was the training yard for Inquisition recruits, and beyond that, the lake.  Around the lake sat barracks, tents beyond tents, hosting the Inquisition's growing army.

From a tent next to the training yard, the Commander emerged for the day.  She watched as he stretched his legs and tightened his sword belt, then made his way to a group of training dummies.

She turned towards the gate, hoping to make it to the tavern for breakfast before going to find Adaar, when the heavy doors opened and the qunari woman stepped out with Varric, Solas, and Cassandra in tow. Varric caught her eye and pulled her along, pressing a loaf of bread into her midsection, a cheerful expression on his face.

'Just in time, Frosty,' he said, facing her and walking backwards towards the stables, 'I was just about to go get you. Hey, you ever ridden a horse?'

She was stunned, frankly, by the question. Had she ever ridden a horse? If she was from the Circle, there was very little likelihood that much horseback riding occurred. What of her life before? It's not like she was born in the Circle, was she?

'Well, we'll find out, won't we?'

* * *

 

She'd never ridden a horse in her _life_.

If you took one look at her, sitting atop that mount, that much is apparent.  Even Varric on his pony was riding faster than her.  The creature between her legs rocked her back and forth, side to side, and it took all the strength in her legs and abdomen to not get thrown from simply walking through the mountain passes.  The horse simply followed the others, so there was no need to steer, thank the Maker.

She couldn't eat the loaf of bread that was her breakfast, for her hand was much too busy gripping the saddle horn for dear life. Eating couldn't have helped, either - she would have spilled her guts after the first twenty minutes down the road.  So the bread sat in her pack, growing cold and hard, uneaten. Her saddle had been loaded with food as well, and the party's supplies spread evenly between the five of them.

The rocking got so bad to the point where she summoned the ice arm, the end of it a mass of crystals embedded around the horn of the saddle.

It would be a very long journey.

* * *

 

One week on the road later, and they arrived in the Hinterlands basin.  Inquisition Scout Harding greeted them at their camp, and the party took half a day to rest. 

As they had traveled, she took in Varric's stories, each becoming more and more incredulous each night.  Solas was ever the mystery - he explained his life to consist mostly of studying, exploring, and traveling, yet shared few details. He was mostly silent during dunner, as they sat around the fire at camp.  Cassandra had a righteous history as the Right Hand of the Divine, and she spoke little of her family.

Adaar was shrouded in mystery.  Though she was qunari, she wasn't a Qunari, and her family, her people, lived far from Par Vollen.  She shared nothing of her upbringing, her training, where her family had actually lived.  Instead, she told jokes and recited songs, cheerful and dashing.

But each night, she would watch her companions chatter to each other, telling their jokes, their stories, drinking and laughing. Much of what was said escaped her notice, or was spoken too fast to read, and she had no stories of her own to share.  Yet, she relished in their company nonetheless, sitting and simply observing.

Each and every one of them went right to sleep after meeting Scout Harding.  The muscles of her thighs, shoulders, hips, and lower back ached something awful, and by the time they returned to Haven in Maker knows how many weeks, her muscles will have grown and strengthened so much she may need new trousers.

At mid-day, she woke, careful not to disturb Cassandra's sleep as she crawled out of the tent they shared.  She crossed the camp to where their horses were tethered, their saddles and saddlebags still attached.  She dug around for something to eat, her appetite gnawing at her insides.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Adaar behind her.  How the woman always managed to go unnoticed, even the Maker didn't know.

Adaar tapped her lips: 'A week on the road, fresh fruit seems real nice, don't it?'

'Maker, yes,' she said and felt her stomach give a needy roll.  Adaar smiled, her lips parting, chest and shoulders bouncing.  Her stomach must have made a noise then.

'Follow me,' Adaar beckoned with her hand when the laughter ceased. 

She followed the woman out of camp and through thick underbrush, under tall trees.  The air here was certainly less cold than in Haven - no snow graced the ground, or even the hills - but it was still brisk enough that she was thankful for her cloak.  Adaar was well bundled, accommodating for the fact that she hailed from a race of people much more used to living in tropical environments. 

Small red spheres, growing larger as they drew closer, hanging low on the branches of the tree.  Her mouth began to water - how long had it been since she had had an apple?  The food at Haven's tavern consisted of bread, potatoes, and meat, and sometimes peas and carrots floated in the fatty broth of the soup served at mid-day.  To her, those apples were worth more than all the jewels owned by the Empress of Orlais.

She immediately ate three of them then and there as Adaar kicked the trunk of the tree and they caught more, filling her cloak like a sack and carrying the bundle back to camp for their companions, the scouts, and the soldiers.  The look on their faces as they spread the cloak across the requisition table was enough to warm her chest for days.  Which, evidently, was all used up by the time they arrived at the Crossroads and met the refugees.

Her heart ached for those displaced by the mage-templar war.  So many homeless, so many injured - so many dead.

She stayed back as Adaar approached Mother Giselle, the very woman they made this journey to meet with.  She felt awkward, standing behind, not helping or assisting anyone with the seemingly endless tasks that needed to get done around the small village.

When she turned around, Solas was gone, nowhere in sight.  Wasn't he just here? Varric and Cassandra were chatting or bickering, whatever those two did when they weren't giving passive aggressive stares at each other, and didn't seem to notice his absence. Glancing around the field hospital, she spotted him several cots away, kneeling over a young man's body. She slowly approached, more out of curiosity than any desire to actually sneak up on the man, watching the green glow emanating from his hands.  The injured refugee on the cot was conscious, and had a death grip on Solas' arm. Alarm spread through her, until she realized the grip was out of stress, and not opposition. Solas' hands hovered over a wound in the refugee's flank, and when he drew them away, the flesh had already begun knitting itself back together.  He patted the refugee's arm, and rose - she now saw the young man's face, and recognized the bone structure of an elf - turning to face her.

'Teach me to do that.'

Solas stepped closer, coming to stand directly before her.

'I cannot imagine you to not already know how to heal, considering your Harrowing brand.  I may be willing to refresh your memory - but some other time. Adaar is ready for us.' He inclined his head, and she turned, watching as Adaar approached Varric and Cassandra just outside the field hospital. 

'We're gonna clear out the fighting,' Adaar said when they had gathered in a circle, 'there's a tunnel under the hill just past the guard station.  Prepare yourself, apparently the rebel mages and templars are just throwing themselves at each other.'

She fell in step behind Adaar as they marched through the refugee camps, passing families, the sick, and the destitute. There was no denying the looks of hostility she and Solas received for simply carrying their staves. _How can we help these people,_ she wondered, _if they can't even trust us?_

The people needed blankets, food, and medicine. The Inquisition soldiers could only provide so much protection in the valley as it was, they couldn't spare the resources to deal with the fighting beyond fending off thieves and bandits, and keeping the war from spilling into the safe valley.  Her heart ached at the thought that, if she was once a Circle mage, and was attending the Conclave wielding a dagger of all things, was she also one of these rebel mages?  Had her memories not been denied, had Adaar not taken her in, would she be there, in the Hinterlands, terrorizing refugees and fighting templars to the death?

A small nudge in her side roused her. Varric was there, offering her a reassuring nod as they entered the tunnel.

The fight began the moment they re-entered the light.

She summoned ice, feeling it grow down her arm and extend into its familiar sword point.  Frost coated her tunic, armor, skin, and hair, thrumming with Solas' barrier magic.

A templar came at her left, sword raised, shield placing an iron wall between her and her combatant.  She slammed the crystal of her staff into the ground, and a wall of ice rose between them.  She used Fade-step, appearing behind the templar, and froze him from behind. She swung her crystalline sword through the frozen body, shattering him, watching with a queasy stomach as his body was reduced to frozen chunks of meat and bone. 

Shrugging it off, she stepped through the fabric of air once more, coming to Adaar's side, driving the blade of her staff through a gap in the armor of a templar flanking her.  The templar spasmed as she drew her staff blade away, coated in blood, from the base of his spine.  Adaar continued firing arrows at the remaining templars, nearly missing Cassandra as she swung her shield in a violent attempt to knock the other down. Solas summoned lightning, and she watched as it arced between the remaining templars, paralyzing them, leaving them open to Cassandra's blade and Varric's poisoned arrows.

She turned to Adaar when the pulse of the air stilled, and the fight was over - for now.

'Lets go get the rest, shall we?' Adaar notched another arrow, and crept forward through the destruction in the valley, a hunter seeking more prey.

* * *

 

The next several days were spent rooting out mage and templar camps throughout the valley, securing the road and eliminating threats.  On their daily travels, she picked up anything the refugees may have use of - extra blankets, herbs for medicine, weapons for defense, and the like.  Whenever they returned to camp at night, she gave Inquisition scouts the location of food stores held by the rebel mages. Each time they passed through the refugee camps, things looked a little better for them.

They travelled to Redcliffe Farms, where Adaar spent some time negotiating with a horse-master there.  It was true that the Inquisition needed better horses - she just couldn't understand why Leliana, Josephine, and the Commander thought sending the Herald of Andraste herself to seek out these horses was a productive use of time.  There were refugees who needed to return to their homes and their farms, and rifts that needed closing.  Any agent could secure the deal.

And there were so many rifts in the Hinterlands. Every time Adaar closed one, another seemed to open somewhere else.  Every time Adaar closed one, her admiration and loyalty for the woman grew. 

They set up a camp between the abandoned farms that night.  Adaar helped her out of her armor, and used a knife to cut away the five day old bandages over her burns.  She had been trying to change them regularly, using rolls left behind when they flushed out the rebel mage's and renegade templar's from their camps when her personal supply ran out (which was fairly quickly, considering the burns covered nearly the whole right side of her body).

She scratched the healing scars when they were free of their bindings.  Her healing had come along wonderfully, according to Solas, who had once glanced over the campfire while Adaar helped to wrap up her head. 

When she reached into her pack for more, she found only a single roll of cotton bandages.  Releasing a flurry of sound and vibration from her mouth, she inspected the roll, trying to gauge just how much she could cover.

Adaar tapped her hand, and her eyes fell to the qunari's lips.

'Maybe we could just wrap your arm, and leave the rest?' she suggested.  She tool the roll, and without waiting for her reply, began wrapping at the bottom of the arm, covering where the flesh had begun healing in a knot of pink tissue. She shivered at the idea. All this time, her burns had been covered and protected.  Sure, they were almost completely healed, but the scarring left her skin in a raised patchwork of pink, brown, and melted skin.  She could see out of her right eye, though the scarring left the skin tight and hard, and her eyelid wouldn't open as much as the other did.

Absently, she touched her eye and cheek, feeling the rugged skin with the pads of her fingertips.  Adaar, seeing this, paused her wrapping and took her jaw in both hands, staring at her, intent in her eyes.

'You, my friend, my disciple, you are beautiful. Your scars show bravery, survival - don't worry for one damn second about them.  I swear to you, I will personally kill anyone who speaks of your trophies with venom.'

Her mouth quivered, her throat tightened - but Adaar only swiped her thumbs over her cheeks and pressed her forehead to hers.

'Thank you,' she managed, her eyes meeting Adaar's directly before her.  Adaar removed a hand from her face to tap her own lips, drawing her attention.

'You know, "The Disciple" is a wonderful name, worthy of someone as loyal as you.'

Her heart leapt in her chest, pounding against her ribcage.

'Then it shall be mine.'

* * *

 

Early the next morning, Adaar took them to a Fade rift on the edge of Redcliffe Farms over the river that the scouts had reported. As they neared it, she, the Herald's newly named Disciple, coated herself in frost and gripped her staff in her calloused hand.  Adaar was nearly buzzing with anticipation, for after this rift was closed, there would be no more known rifts harassing the refugees and Fereldans in the Hinterlands, no more tears in the Veil dotting the landscape.  The Disciple was alight with anticipation, as well, for this small fact.

With the proximity of Adaar's mark the rift pulsed, and demons fell through.  These demons the Disciple could not recognize - long, spindly creatures with sharp claws, hunched over, lunging at them.

Immediately, she cast several ice spells, freezing them where they stood.  Cassandra swept her sword through the nearest, and moved on to the next.

One of the demons broke the ice spell, moving too fast for her to catch.  The Disciple summoned her sword of ice, preparing for a melee fight as a second wave of demons came though the rift before they finished off the first.

Out of nowhere, she was crushed against the rocks of the riverbed, the breath knocked from her lungs.  She heaved and gasped, sucking air against the painful ache of her ribs.  Her eyes focused, and the terrifying figure bent over her prone body filled her vision.

With a sharp cry, she rolled over onto her stomach as the demon swiped its razor sharp claws through the space her body had just occupied.

It was a mistake.  The demon was lightning fast, and within seconds had its claws breaking through her armor of frost, the chainmail of her tunic, digging into her back.

She forced air out of her mouth, feeling her vocal chords shred as she screamed.  The claws dug deeper, pulling, tearing her skin and muscles, scraping the hard bones of her ribs.

A flash of purple.  A shower of shimmering green essence.  The claws were gone.  Gasping, she fought to draw herself to her knees, but the pain in her back was too much.  She collapsed on the rocks, and watched helplessly as Varric and Adaar shot down demon after demon, and Cassandra left behind a trail of demon essence.

Solas was running towards her, his hands alight with green energy.  Her lips moved, some vibration coming from them.  He kneeled by her side, and she felt the warm buzz of his healing magic enter the deep, burning gashes on her back.  Though she could not see them, she felt them - long, deep slashes from her right shoulder to her lower back.  Through all her armor, all the ice, that demon tore through it like it was nothing but _water_.

The pain eased as Solas worked.  The bones of her ribs no longer thrummed with ache and her lungs no longer burned.  But the others were down both their mages, and she could see them suffer for it.

'Go help them, Solas,' she groaned, weakly lifting her arm to push him away - or at least try to.  She couldn't see his face, or read his reply.  'Go close the rift, dammit, I'll be here when you're done! Go!'

He hesitated before rising, rushing off to aid their companions, their friends, in battle, his staff poised and crackling with purple energy.

She felt her shirt and chainmail tunic grow hot and sticky with blood, the spaces in between filling with slick moisture. She reached for her staff, her last mode of self-defense should she draw any demon's notice. 

Lucky enough for her, she blacked out before that could happen.

* * *

 

Soft - hair.  Fur? Fur pressed against her face. The side of her face. The right side of her face. She was lying on her stomach.

The world around her rattled.  Moved.  It was annoying, it made her bones hurt, her muscles groan.  Earthquake?  Could be.  No. Too methodical. The vibrations were near, rippling through the hard surface beneath the fur beneath her face. She tried to move, but the strain in her muscles, how weak she was, made her go limp once more. A low vibration rumbled from her vocal cords.

A hand on her neck, fingertips soothing against her skin.  They moved to card through her hair.  Someone had taken out her braid.  It was getting terribly messy anyways. 

The hand in her hair soothed her, comforted her, bringing her down to a half-conscious state.  The gesture felt maternal.  Someone did this for her, once, when she was young. Her body remembers. She doesn't.  She likes the touch.  It puts her to sleep.

* * *

 

She was jostled.  Awoken, her head rose off the soft fur blanket, her eyes snapping open.  Before her eyes was a canvas sack.

She looked around.  Above, light sifted through a canvas tarp.  Below, under the furs, pale wood thrummed. She was in a wagon. Where did the river go? The rift?

The wagon was loaded with various sacks and crates, with her in the center, wrapped in furs.  She rose, propping herself up on her elbow.  There was no-one else in the wagon, but someone was driving it.

The muscles in her back cried out as she pushed herself onto her hand, bending her legs to get her knees under her. Looking out over the lip of of the wagon, on the driver's bench was an Inquisition soldier dressed in full armor, a heavy cloak around their shoulders.  Wind and snow flew past the opening of the covered wagon.

It took a test of skill and balance for her to pivot in her position to look out the back of the wagon.  Another covered wagon followed behind, drawn by two horses. A solitary mount walked alongside the other wagon, and astride that horse, wrapped up in a display of cloaks and furs, was the unmistakable scowl of Cassandra.

They were safe.  If Cassandra made it out, then Adaar closed the rift, and Varric and Solas were okay, too.  Everyone was okay.

She collapsed on her bed of wool blankets and furs, lying on her stomach, and let the warmth that cocooned her lull her to sleep once more.

* * *

 

When she woke again, she was hungry as a wyvern.

The fierce wind and snow receded, and when she looked out the front of the wagon, she saw small flurries dancing down, skittering in the breeze.  Mountains surrounded her field of view, and in the distance, small plumes of smoke rose into the sky from familiar chimneys.

She was home.

* * *

Though her personal quarters - if a canvas tent squeezed in an empty space between several others could be called that - were outside Haven's actual walls, her so-called 'friends' refused to let her rest there and took her, quite forcibly, to the healer's station, which had been moved from an open-walled tent in the heart of the village to a cabin nestled by the Chantry, as far from her own tent as one could get in Haven.

Cassandra had been the one to physically push her down on the cot and scowl at her until she began removing her ruined chainmail armor.

'Alright alright, mother hen,' she said, defeated, more for Cassandra's sake than her own.  Sometimes, making sounds into words was so tiresome when she couldn't be sure that what she was saying was even coming out right, she wished to communicate through simple gestures.  _Wouldn't that be dandy._

Cassandra left while a healer looked her over. Apparently, whomever worked on her on the journey back to Haven, most surely Solas, had done fine enough that there would be no lasting damage to her innards, and she only needed to rest and eat to allow her blood to rejuvenate after the major loss she suffered, and for her muscles to heal.  She would, of course, retain scars from this.  What were four more?  At least they would be covered by her clothing.

She dressed again, and left the healer's cabin, walking slowly and leaning heavily on her staff.  She thought about going to the tavern to fill her empty stomach, only to be distracted by the large crowd amassing in front of the Chantry.

Hobbling over to investigate, she noticed the crowd was divided into two opposing groups - mages and templars. Of course.  Fury overtaking her, she rushed into the center of the crowd, her staff keeping her upright.

'What's going on here?'

'Your _filthy_ kind killed the Divine!' a templar spat in her face.  She was about to retort when another mage stepped in front of her, shielding her.  She couldn't read what he said, but saw blind rage sweep across the templar's face.

A third force shoved its way into the fight, and her eyes landed on the Commander, his brow locked in a furrow, the lines at the corner of his mouth pulled down.  Her eyes immediately followed his mouth.

'Enough!' he forced the mage and the templar apart.

'Knight-Captain Cullen -'

'That is not my title, and we are not templars anymore, we are all united...'

She stopped listening.  The Commander, a templar?  Of course.  It explained his distrust of her when they first met at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She couldn't _believe_ she let a templar so close to her person.  It was instinctual for her to physically avoid any templar, something from her forgotten past.  It was the only thing she had been glad to forget.

'Get back to work,' she caught, and the crowd dispersed.  When she remained, more out of inability to move than anything else, something changed in his expression.

'Of course you're involved in this.'

'Excuse me?  What is that supposed to mean, _templar?'_

'Cassandra told me about the Circle you come from. You rebelled like any other, don't think yourself better just because you're the Herald's _pet_.'

'The mages left the Circle for their freedom to live as any other as they deserve.  What did _you_ leave for, he who so quickly forgets the abusive, murderous Order -'

Adaar came out of nowhere, stepping between the Commander and the Disciple.

'That is enough now, both of you!' she held each in a clenched fist, towering over them both.

The Disciple bowed her head, but looked up in time to see Chancellor Roderick approach them, her eyes trained on his mouth.

'And what does that mean, exactly?'

The Commander turned to face the man. 'Back already, Chancellor? Haven't you done enough?'

'I'm curious, Commander, Herald, how you will restore order as you've so whole-heartedly promised?'

'We'll do a damn good better job than you and the Chantry are!' she found herself shouting, and Adaar kept her grip on her cloak collar tight.

'Of course, the one-armed, deaf rebel mage is going to save the world?  Look at yourself, even now you need your precious Herald to simply stand up, your weakness -'

Now Adaar lunged, only to be held back by the Commander.  Reeling from her sudden loss of support, the Disciple leaned heavily on her staff.

'If I can't be convinced,' Roderick continued, 'tell me, how do you suppose to convince those in Val Royeaux of this Inquisition's credibility?'

With that, Roderick left, and the Commander let Adaar go.  She turned to her Disciple, and cupped her hand around the scarred right side of her face.

'Go, rest.  Eat.  You need it, my friend.'

She nodded, and both Adaar and the Commander left towards the Chantry, where the leaders of the Inquisition would be meeting. She watched their retreating forms before slowly making her way to the tavern.

* * *

 

'What do you mean, _stay here?'_

Adaar returned to her later that afternoon, finding her at the blacksmith's as Harritt repaired her chainmail tunic. He looked up from his workbench, saw the anger spread across the Herald's Disciple's face, and promptly returned to his work.

'Look, I hate this as much as you do,' Adaar said, gesturing wildly with her hands, 'the fact is, you're injured, unfit for riding across the Frostbacks all the way to Val Royeaux.  I can't risk you hurting yourself anymore. By the time we return, you will be strong and ready, but until then you _must_ remain in Haven!'

She sat back, chewing her lip.  Adaar was right, after all - she could hardly stand, and the traveling party to Val Royeaux left tomorrow.  She would wait three weeks for her return. 

'Okay,' she resigned.

* * *

 

The next morning, she watched as Adaar, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric left on their mounts, accompanied by several soldiers and a few scouts.  When they were well gone on their way down the road, she looked towards Haven, and sighed. Three weeks in an village with no one she actually knew, not the way she knew her companions, would pass by very slowly indeed.

Her skills outside of magic use limited, and she couldn't very well practice fighting in her current state.

She spent much of the first week with Adan, the alchemist, learning to properly crush elfroot leaves and other herbs for potions and tonics.  He often sent her out of the village hunting for herbs, one of the more labor-intensive jobs she could do.  Adan, while a rather grouchy man, seemed to appreciate her help.

As soon as she could walk briskly without feeling much pain, she set out to her secluded area by the training yard. Her tree was still enclosed in ice, the weather around Haven too cold for such ice to melt, even after a month's time.

She wanted the ice _gone_. It was a shameful reminder of her rage, her inability to control herself.  She had no restraint, yet at the same time, too much of it. She was unbalanced. If she was going to be the Disciple to the Herald of Andraste, she had to regain her balance.

Her fingers quickly traced the glyph in the air, two fingers and her thumb the only things keeping her staff in hand. The glyph was remembered as surely as one remembered their arithmetic tables, and the air around the glyph shone as her magic accepted the spell. 

With a flick of her wrist and a thrust of her staff, a crackling shockwave of electricity erupted from her staff that connected with the tree.  The ice shattered, flying away from the tree at such force she had to throw up a barrier to keep the shards from slicing her skin open.

She'd successfully cast an energy spell. She was one step closer.

* * *

 

Leliana updated her when one of her agents came back with a missive from Adaar.  They were staying a week longer in Val Royeaux, and to expect their return to be delayed as such.  She was disappointed, of course - two full weeks had passed, and all she had to show for it was that she could now cast energy spells.

Two weeks left, sitting on her hands. She felt useless. She helped Adan when he allowed the company, and trained daily rebuilding her strength, but there was still the pit in the center of her chest that felt empty without anything to _do_.

Mother Giselle found her one day at the start of the third week as she carried healing potions and tonics from Adan's cabin to the wagons headed for the Hinterlands.

'I could use your help, child,' she held a hint of a smile and led her slightly out of Haven, towards the barracks and soldier's camps.  She tried not to protest at being called "child," as if she weren't so obviously at _least_ twenty-five, and followed, using her staff as a walking stick, not needing it as a crutch much these days.

They entered a cluster of tents littered with cots and crates.  Soldiers and scouts alike lay on the makeshift beds, tended to by various Chantry sisters and brothers.

'What good can I do here?' she asked Mother Giselle, who did not turn and face her, but simply gestured towards a soldier with a horrific burn on her shoulder.  She looked to the mother, confused. 

'You are a mage, no?  Trained by the Circle?  Harrowed?  Even if you cannot remember, the magic, the knowledge, is there.  You have within you the ability to heal this woman's burn.  If you do well enough, you may not even leave a scar.'

She touched her own shoulder, and ground her teeth together.

'Why would you have me do this?  What possible purpose could this have other than irritate me?'

Mother Giselle inclined her head slightly, and did not smile when she replied. 'If you have to ask, then you already know the answer.'

Still fuming, she looked down to the woman on the cot. She didn't know if her spell could even be strong enough - Solas showed her, in the Hinterlands, to refresh her memory, but she barely had enough power behind the spell to heal a small cut.

Raising her hand, she stretched her fingers, taking a deep breath.  Mother Giselle sat by the woman's head, softly combing her hair back with her fingers.

She went over the spell in her mind. She saw a sunny field in spring, the smell of elfroot and wildflower essence in the air.  She saw Solas' hands shining in green-blue light. Sister Cadence's calming touch. Cool air, ice creeping, vines growing across a lattice.

Her hand, surrounded in a misty green-blue glow, felt warm, yet cool all at once.  Tentatively, she brought it hovering over the soldier's exposed shoulder, over the festering burn.

Breathe in.  Out.  Ice chilling, cooling, soothing, dousing the flames.  Cool silk sheets in the hot summer heat, running over red and freckled skin -

A hand closed around her wrist.  Her eyes flew open, and saw Mother Giselle staring at her in earnest.

'That's enough, child.  Your task is done.'

She looked down.  The soldier's, the woman's shoulder, was smooth under the press of her hand.  The skin was pink and raw, but otherwise healed.  Any scarring would be minor, if any at all.

A flurry of vibrations escaped her throat as she stood, jumping.  The soldier began to awaken, and she smacked a kiss on the woman's forehead before dancing over to the next injured soldier.  The Chantry sister moved out of the way as she asked to heal the gash across their ribs.  After their gash would had closed, the flesh knitting together before her very eyes, she flitted off to help the sisters running the small hospital.  If she felt Mother Giselle's knowing gaze on the back of her neck, she wrote it off as excitement prickling her nerves.

One of the sisters turned to thank her, the mysterious mage with an abundance of mana, and quickly exclaimed something the Herald's Disciple couldn't catch, but other sisters turned to stare at.

'Sister Cadence?'

'Maker's breath, you live!  Oh, I should smack you for running off and worrying me half to death!'

Sister Cadence wrapped her arms tightly around her torso, then pulled back to inspect her scarring. 

'If you must know,' she said gleefully, 'the Herald herself has taken me under her wing.'

'Then Andraste preserve her, for she's stuck with your stubborn ass.'

She told Sister Cadence takes of her adventures in the Hinterlands with Adaar and Cassandra, Varric and Solas, of the day she snuck away from Sister Cadence and wound up fighting a pride demon at the Breach, even the time Varric's jacket caught fire in the midst of battle and she froze it to douse the flames, only to succeed in weighing the dwarf down with a giant block of ice.  Sister Cadence watched, in awe, enraptured, and laughed at her misadventures. She paused only to heal soldiers as they were carried in, and the two talked long into the evening.

Saying goodnight was hard, but she promised her friend she would return the next morning.  Sister Cadence waved her on, and watched her navigate the labyrinth of cots and crates that the field hospital had become.

She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to fight the chill wind and used the crystal of her staff to illuminate the dim path to the road back to Haven.  Clearly, it did not illuminate the path well enough, for where it met the road she walked face-first into the metal breastplate of someone solid.

'Maker, I'm so sorry,' she apologized, pulling her hood back, 'I wasn't paying - oh.'

The Commander was staring down at her, just as stunned as she, painfully ignorant of the dozen or so papers that had scattered into the snow, drifting in the wind.

She cursed, lunging to catch one of the papers that had blown the furthest away.  Andraste preserve her, the man got on every last one of her nerves, but she wasn't so indecent enough to let whatever important missives she herself knocked from his hands get ruined or lost.  She'd collected four of the scattered papers and turned to see him reaching for the last.  Straightening her back, collecting her pride, she stepped over to where he seemed to be reorganizing them, and held out the last four in her hand.

If he said anything, it was lost on her, too dark to read without the help of her staff light.  Wait - where was her staff?

She looked around, eyes sore from having to focus in the dim light provided by the moon.  Maker's balls, she just dropped her bloody staff for some templar's papers.  What a shitty apostate she would make.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to see the Commander holding something long and dark out to her.

_Like something from one of Varric's fucking stories._

When the staff met her hand, the crystal illuminated. The Commander flinched, and she might have taken note of it had he not tapped the corner of his mouth. Maybe.

'I apologize, I should have seen you there, with your - uh, mage light, and all.'

_Mage light?  Really?_

'No worries, I was the one who nearly ruined all your, uh report papers.'

_She was going to murder someone.  Varric, probably._

'What are you doing out here, Commander? It's quite late.'

'I could as you the same thing, Disciple.'

'I was at the field hospital.  Some of us happen to have a bedside manner.'

His mouth opened, his eyebrows raised. It took a moment for her to understand that he had just scoffed at her.

'You haven't answered my question.'

'"Commander" isn't just a fancy title, you know.  I have troops to direct, a war to win.'

'Well, it's nice to know Adaar's military commander isn't _completely_ incompetent.'

It was his turn to be flustered, and she left him like that, beginning her walk to Haven.  She watched him catch up to her from the corner of her eye. Turning to tell him off, she paused -

'Allow me to accompany you back to Haven, my lady.'

'Oh, am I a lady now?  That's a shock.  No thanks, I don't need you to walk me home.' 

'It's dark, and wolves do roam these mountains, you know.'

'So you're saying I can't defend myself? I'm no longer a "dangerous mage?"' she deadpanned, or at least did her best attempt at a deadpan.

'Well, we _are_ going in the same direction.'

'Fine.  You may accompany me, Ser Knight.'

'You know I'm no templar anymore -'

'A templar is a templar, whether or not they are sworn to the Order.  I was a Circle mage, and as much as I cannot remember that life, or anything before, I know the essence of lyrium in a templar's veins when I feel it.'

She had begun to recognize her deterrence to the templars from Haven had corresponded with the sense of lyrium she felt pulsing through their bodies.  It didn't belong in anyone's body for so long a time, and she could feel it hum against her brain.  It came in short waves from the Commander's person, the light essence lingering.  It must have been a day or two since his last draught - templars seemed to take the stuff every day, and she could barely detect it on him.

The flash of irritation on his face was not missed, but he held his bent elbow out anyway - a big mistake, as it was on her right side.  Embarrassment replaced cool irritation, and she suppressed a feral grin as she summoned a petite ice arm that curved around his flesh and blood arm.

'I deserved that,' she caught, certain he intended the words only for himself.

With illumination from her staff crystal, they walked back to Haven, arm in ice-arm, without any words uttered between the two.

They stopped before her tent by Haven's gates, and she allowed the ice-arm to dissolve, hiding a smirk at the sight of him physically relaxing at its disappearance.

'Goodnight, Commander,' she turned to him, willing her staff crystal to shine a little brighter.

'Sleep well, Disciple,' he gave a short bow, and crossed the road to where his own tent stood, next to Cassandra's, in amongst the tents hosting soldiers and recruits.

Allowing her staff rune to dim in the darkness, she turned into her own tent, lacing the front flap closed and shivering in the dark. The cold never bothered her.

* * *

 

Two days later, she was in the tavern fetching breakfast, folding a second loaf of bread in a square of cotton, when a large form entered the corner of her vision.  She turned to find the Commander's mouth, finding a teasing smile pulling at the scar on his lip.

'You're not stealing that, I hope?'

'You wish you could catch me doing something wrong, don't you, templar?  In fact, this is for Sister Cadence down at the field hospital.  I thought she might appreciate fresh bread every now and then.'  She stood, stuffing the loaf of bread in her leather pack and slinging it over her shoulders.

'Are you headed there now?'

'Yes.'

'Would you terribly mind company?  I'm headed to the forward camp myself, and it's on the way.

She frowned.  She had hoped the events of the other night would be a one-time thing, though now she saw those hopes crash and burn.

'Fine, but keep your distance.  I have a lot to carry and not an arm to spare.'

The joke was lost on him as she summoned an arm of ice, holding her staff about where her fist might go, and with her truly free hand, took another loaf of bread from the basket on the table and took a rather obnoxious bite out of it.  She swallowed, and grinned.  'Shall we go?' 

* * *

 

'And while my sisters live in South Reach, I grew up in Honnleath, before it was overtaken by the Blight.'

'What was the Blight like?'

They were practically walking sideways, for the need for her to read his lips clearly.  Their pace was slow, caught up in conversation.  As per her request, the Commander kept his distance, the hum of stale lyrium far from her own skin.

'I never actually fought in the Blight itself. I was a templar at the time, rather green and only a year had passed since I took my vows. Nineteen years old, mind you, I was not prepared to face down a Blight.  I was stationed at Kinloch Hold, where Ferelden's Circle was. We had our own issues, the Blight very far from our worries.'

'What a shame you were not stationed in Ostwick, or someone might have known who I once was.  Or, had I been sent to Kinloch.'

'Oh, you should be very thankful you were never sent to Kinloch.'

'Why?'

'I - I'd rather not speak more on the matter, if you don't mind.'

She kept her lips tight, eyes flicking down to the path before her.  A hand waved in her field of view, and she looked back to the Commander.

'Is there nothing you can remember at all? Not, say, a favorite color? Or a song stuck in your head?'

She shook her head in an attempt to hide her amusement at his poor attempt to lighten the mood.

'No, nothing.  I have muscle memory, the ingrained knowledge of words and spells. Knowledge of what things _are_ and mean, and a very basic understanding of Thedas and its history - but no songs. Not like I can hear them again anyways.  Oh, what I would give to hear the Chant of Light sung again...'  She felt almost wistful, thinking on all the things lost to her, all the things she will never again know.

'Have you spoken to Leliana?  If you know the Circle you came from...'

'By the brand on my wrist?'  She bent her wrist, showing the dark semi-circle tattooed against the lightly tanned flesh of her skin, hiding none of her resentment for the mark.

'As awful as it is,' he began, 'it is the only piece you have to connect you to your past.'

'How many other harrowed mages from Ostwick came to the Conclave?'  she asked, furrowing her brows, 'Let me tell you.  The first thing, the very first thing that I remember is being carried by others away from where my arm was blown off.  They tried the tourniquet around my arm.  They continued to carry me, half-dead, through the snow until they were killed by volleys of Fade-fire.  There were a dozen mages, maybe more, that I saw. I couldn't even _remember them_.'

The Commander took a cautious step forward, and she recoiled, drawing back.

'I'm sorry.'

She nodded, and kept walking, not realizing they had been standing for some time.  'You, ironically, were the first to find me after that.'

'Ironically?'

'A mage fleeing templar oppression, only to be saved by another templar, who has decided to walk her everywhere she goes? 

'Not _everywhere_ \- and I'm not a templar! -'

He became distracted by something behind her, and she turned to see Sister Cadence running up the path, approaching her with a wild expression on her face.

'There you are!'  She said, wide eyed.  'Maker, I was worried you weren't coming at all. We've got one in real bad shape - Commander Cullen,' she inclined her head to him, then returned to the Disciple's bewildered gaze.  'For Andraste's _sake_ , hurry!'

She sprung from stillness into movement, not bothering to say goodbye to the Commander as she ran down the path, Sister Cadence close behind.

At the field hospital, another sister and a non-mage healer were pressing wads of cotton fabric down on a soldier's stomach. The soldier's face was pale from blood loss.

Summoning a healing aura, she passed her hand over the soldier's chest, moving towards the stomach as the sister and healer moved out of her way.

When she saw the wound, she gagged.

It was deep, like a demon had found a way to claw under the armor and rip off the skin and muscle of the belly, taking parts of the soldier's internal organs with it.  Two long, wide gashes driving perpendicular to the soldier's midline began to well with blood as soon as the compresses were removed. She pressed her hand to the wound, pushing, forcing, trying to at least make the bleeding stop. Frustrated grunts vibrated through her throat as she threw as much mana as she could into the spell, focusing on the torn organ walls and willing them to close.  The slick, pink flesh showed signs of repair, slowly closing off the open holes of their surfaces.

But there was still so much blood.

A person's insides should not be so exposed. Nature didn't intend for that to happen.  Blood covered her hand, wrist, the bottom of her sleeve.  She grunted again, and the sisters moved in with more cotton compresses, as her hand remained inside the soldier's belly, draining herself.

A hand on her arm, pulling.  The compresses went away, thrown into a bucket to later be burned.  She couldn't give up, this soldier, this _life_ -

Two hands grabbed her face and turned her forcibly to meet Sister Cadence's eyes.

'He's _gone_ , you've done all you could. Let him go.'

The commanding stillness of Sister Cadence's lip was what eventually made her nod and remove her hand, ending the spell. The other Chantry sister covered the body with a white cloth.

'What happened to him?'

'A demon in the valley.  You know how it is.  These soldiers give so much to fight the Breach for the rest of us.'

A low vibration rumbled in her throat as she moved to sit down on a crate, bracing her elbow on her knee and leaning over, exhausted, her hand dripping the dead soldier's blood onto frozen dirt. Sister Cadence knelt before her, a damp cloth in hand, and began wiping away the blood.

'I brought you bread.  It's probably cold now.'

Sister Cadence squeezed her hand through the cloth, and wiped her tears off her cheek with a clean thumb.

* * *

 

Every morning, after she trained and ate breakfast, the Commander would walk with her to the field hospital on his way to the camps in the valley.  They mostly argued, when they did talk, but sometimes they could maintain a genial conversation, and sometimes they walked in total silence.  The Commander continued to keep his distance, despite the fact that she never told him of her repulsion to the hum of lyrium in his body, however quiet it was.

Sure, she drank lyrium in the field when her mana ran low, but she was a mage, and she didn't ingest the stuff every day.

Two weeks quickly flew by.  The Commander and the Herald's Disciple were walking the road back to Haven in the evening when he suddenly gripped her arm and pulled her out of the road.  She flailed her arm at him, until she saw several soldiers on mounts pass them, headed towards Haven.  Leading them, she saw, was the Herald.

'Adaar!'  She smiled, forgetting the Commander's invasion of her space as she watched the envoy pass.  She turned to the Commander, whose fingers were still wrapped around her right bicep.

'Maker, I would have a clearer conscience if you had eyes on the back of your head.'

'Do you worry for my safety, Commander?' She teased him, brushing his hand off her person. 

'I would rather not be the one to tell the Herald that her Disciple died in some menial accident,' he defended, and they continued their walk to Haven to hear Adaar's news of Val Royeaux.

* * *

 

Adaar had brought with her two new aides to the Inquisition and her Inner Circle: Sera, a boisterous elf who amused the Herald's Disciple to no end, though was wary of the one-armed mage upon learning of her skills; and Vivienne.

Vivienne, like the Disciple, was a Circle mage, but held vastly different views on the politics of Circles.  When she learned Vivienne lived at Ostwick for a time, her heart nearly stopped.

'I was from Ostwick!  Do you know who I am?'  She asked, overjoyed.

'I'm afraid I was transferred to Montsimmard far too long ago to remember anyone who wasn't note-worthy, dear.'

She had a grudging respect for the Knight-Enchanter.

Adaar, after meeting with her advisors, relayed to her gathered circle of friends, companions, and allies the debate of seeking aid from the rebel mages or ceded templars.  She told her Disciple of meeting the leader of the Mage Rebellion, former Grand Enchanter Fiona, in Val Royeaux and of the encounter with Lord Seeker Lucius. 

'It could be helpful to go to Redcliffe and see just what Fiona wants,' Varric suggested.  The group had taken up an entire table at the tavern, even with Cassandra still meeting with Leliana, Josephine, and the Commander in the Chantry.

'You should ally with the mages,' she said, speaking up for the first time since the conversation began.  'It's clear the templars are entirely uninterested. Besides, the mages would have more power to help you close the Breach than any templar.'

'If we ally with the rebels, the Chantry and several others will only discount the Inquisition further,' Vivienne countered, leaning in, 'At least the people _like_ the templars for the moment.'

'Are we so under control by influence and reputation that we would jeopardize our chances of success?' said Solas.  The Disciple's eyes flicked from person to person so fast that a heavy headache was forming behind her forehead.

'Look, I get I'm new here, but mages are, well, mages, and can't really be trusted here, can they?'  Sera added, 'they left the Circles for a reason, they might not be so eager to come back and work for something that was even part of the Chantry.'

'Buttercup's got a point.'

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a break. There were so many people _talking_ all at once at each other, their mouths running a mile a minute. She'd been getting better at reading lips over the last month, but she could only read so much where a hearing person could understand just fine.  Hearing people didn't need to track others' faces and spend precious seconds figuring out just who was talking, they could listen to more than one voice at once.  With so many people, it just got to be too much, too much -

She stood up, eyes snapping open, the sudden brightness of the lanterns on the table becoming daggers in her temples.

'Excuse me,' she mumbled, and made a beeline for the door, quickly wrapping her cloak around her and taking her staff from where it leaned against the wall.

Evening had begun to settle in the valley, but the sunset reflecting off the snowy roofs and paths still burned. Maker, she needed darkness, the stillness that came with it.  She needed to be blind as well as deaf, even if just for a moment.

She found herself ducking into the Chantry, where the only illumination came from a few candles scattered about the hall. Oh, how she wanted to approach one of the sisters and ask for her to sing the Chant for her while she cradled her pounding head in her hands.  No, they didn't have to sing it - if they would just repeat it, put some noise in her dead ears, she may find some peace and comfort.

A dark alcove with a bench was all she needed. She sat down and rubbed her eyes, the left one first, and then the right - the one with puffy, rough skin that rose and fell in interconnected patches, stretched around her eye.

She was afraid to attempt to sing, for fear of sounding awful to the hearing kind, and instead hummed a tune of what she thought felt familiar enough to the Chant 

As she hummed in her dark corner, feeling the vibrations echoing through her tongue, her nose, bent over with her forehead resting in the palm of her hand, she felt her brain tire, the persistent throbbing slow its pace against her skull.  Then, a feather-light touch, gently drawing her hand from her forehead, moved somewhere else.  Under her palm, it was warm, and through her fingertips she felt the changing vibrations of the vocal cords, following the rhythm of the song she hummed. Opening her eyes, she saw Leliana, her hand pressing hers to her throat, showing her a new way to listen.

* * *

 

Adaar left again, taking Cassandra and Varric and this new Vivienne with her to the Storm Coast to meet with a mercenary company with interest in the Inquisition.  She would have asked to come along had it not been for the fact that she still winced every time she lifted her shoulders.

At least this time, she had Solas to talk to. Sera remained in Haven as well, but the girl was less than inclined to spend much time with a mage who used magic 'left and fuckin right.'  Of course, she knew Leliana, Josephine, and the Commander, but their positions had them occupied day and night, watching over the Inquisition.

She spent two weeks with Sister Cadence at the field hospital, walking there each day with the Commander after training, bringing the Chantry sisters and other healers warm breakfast from the tavern.

Autumn in the Frostbacks was drawing to a close, and the snow fell a little harder each night.  A shipment of new cloaks and blankets arrived, and the Herald's Disciple lay down at night under everything she owned.

She had finished dinner when Adaar's party returned, and just like last time, she arrived with more riders in the caravan. Clearly, the mercenary company came through - a large qunari, a handsome man, and several others either pulling wagons or riding a motley crew of mounts followed Adaar's usual party.

'These are the Bull's Chargers,'  Adaar proudly announced when her Disciple approached, her arm making a sweeping gesture to the company, 'and this is their leader, the Iron Bull.'

'It's a pleasure, the Iron Bull,' she nodded to him. It was a fitting name, for his horns were uncannily similar to that of a bull's.  For a time, she had assumed that all qunari had the same shape to their horns.  Adaar's horns were long, flowing elegantly behind her head from the crown of her forehead.  'I am the Disciple.'

'Another definite article.  Nice,' he inclined his head with the same respect she had paid him.  She took note of the scars across his body, the cuts carved from his still-massive horns, the patch over his eye.  His shoulder and leg were both in braces, and she smiled when he did.  He didn't ask about her own marks, her own disabilities, nor did he so much as make a face when she spoke (she had become aware of how abnormal her pronunciation of words were when she asked poor Josephine, who tried so hard to answer as kindly as possible).  He took her for what she was and _understood_.

The Iron Bull was introduced to Solas and Sera, and when he heft to get his Chargers set up, Adaar and her Disciple had a moment to speak alone.

'How are you holding up?' she asked. They'd found a lonely corner in the tavern, and the Disciple was eagerly drinking her ale.

'I'm fine, honestly.'

'Good.  I want you in fighting condition - I'm already planning another expedition to the Hinterlands and we've got a few stops along the way.  Namely, Leliana has approached me about meeting a Grey Warden that's been spotted in the area, and... Well, we're going to speak with the rebel mages.'

'Really?'

'We're just going to talk, nothing is set in stone. I just want to see what they want. You were right before, of course. The Templars want nothing to do with us.  But we can't discount them yet, they're still an option if I don't like what Fiona has to say.'

'When do we leave?'

'Three days time.  Will you be ready by then?'

'For you? Always.'

* * *

 

Their journey to the Hinterlands was very much the same as the first.  Adaar brought with her Varric, Solas, the Iron Bull, and the Disciple, and they labored and bonded through the roads down the Frostbacks.

She was packing her tent one morning, with some struggle, when Iron Bull approached, taking the wood tent poles from her and digging up the stakes.  She would have protested that she could do it herself, had it not been for the fact that she actually needed help.

He got her attention, turning to face her head-on.

'You know, I could commission someone to make a prosthetic for you.  Could be made of iron, or leather, or whatever you want.  Might make things a little easier.'

Needless to say, she was taken aback. She'd known the Iron Bull all of five days and already he offered to get her an arm?  No-one else had even suggested something of the sort.

'Thanks, that's really, _really_ generous, but I've got something kinda like that already.'  And she summoned an echo of her arm out of ice; not movable, but a solid arm-shaped structure with crystals crawling up the flesh that remained. Bull's face split in a widening grin, his shoulders bouncing with every laugh.

'Shit, I did not expect that,' he said, seeming to control his laughter.  'Good on you, kid.  That's fuckin impressive.'

Varric joined them, and she flicked her eyes to his lips just in time.  'You think that's cool, you should see her in a fight.'

'Are you married, Disciple?'  Iron Bull joked, and she laughed, hiding the horror she felt when she realized she had no idea if she really was or not.

* * *

 

By a cottage on the lake, they met the Warden.

They were immediately attacked by a group of bandits flanking them.  The Disciple threw up a barrier around the party and summoned her sword of ice and frost armor.  She didn't have time to see the Iron Bull's reaction - she was already stepping through the fabric of the Fade to appear behind one of the bandits, burying her sword of ice through his back.  She cast an ice spell at the next closest bandit, freezing him solid for Iron Bull's great axe to shatter.  The three others died in a variety of lobbed arrows, electric shocks, and attacks from the Warden's conscripts and the Warden himself.

When the pulse of battle died, the Grey Warden turned to say something to his conscripts, and they left.  Adaar approached him, and the Disciple positioned herself to the side, where she could read them both.

'You're no farmer, why. . .my name?' She had a hard time reading the Warden's lips around his beard and mustache.

'I know your name because I am an agent of the Inquisition.  I'm investigating whether the disappearance of Wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.'

'Maker's balls, the Wardens and the Divine? That. . .really know. First off. . .they really disappeared.  But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten.  But one thing I'll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine.  Our purpose isn't political.'

'I'm not here to accuse.  Not yet.  I just need information.'  Adaar practically held her hands out to assure the man she wasn't hostile. 'I've only found you. Where are the rest?'

'I haven't seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because. . .and no need to conscript because there's no Blight coming.'

The Disciple watched him speak of his purpose and that of the Grey Wardens.  She almost felt admiration for the Wardens.  She knew so little beyond their relationship to the Blight.

He answered Adaar's questions and inquiries with short answers and careful phrasing.  Of course, Grey Wardens maintain their elusiveness through carefully guarded secrets.  She watched, trying to read the information he gave them, until Adaar straightened her back and turned her foot out - her tell that she was ready to leave.

'Well, thank you, Warden Blackwall. But now where does this leave us?'

She turned and left, walking between him and her Disciple, who immediately followed on her left flank.  Varric, Solas, and Iron Bull followed to her right, until Adaar turned around.  She followed her gaze, seeing Warden Blackwall running towards them.

'The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved.  If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden.  Maybe you need me.'

'The Inquisition needs all the support it can get,' Adaar replied, 'but what can one Grey Warden to?'

'Save the fucking world, if pressed.'

The Disciple hid a huff of amusement behind her hand.

'Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn't something I'm practiced at, but show me someone who is.  And like I said, there are treaties. . .Being a Warden means something to a lot of people.'

Adaar smirked.  She watched the Herald adjust her pose, taking on a much more regal form, her grace only exemplified by her great height.

'Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.'

* * *

 

Blackwall accompanied them back to camp, and Adaar set him up with a place to rest, instructing him to wait while they finished business in Redcliffe.  Then, Adaar turned down the path, and her companions followed behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was a long ass chapter. In hindsight, I probably should have cut it into at least two parts...oh well.
> 
> So Trevelyan has a name! Sorta. We'll learn more about her later :)
> 
> ('Why use a sword when you can just punch a demon into nonexistence?' okay so did anyone else laugh their asses off when playing the Magi Origin in DA:O when you go into the fade and fucking punch wisps to death like holy fucking hell I completely fucking lost it when Amell started punching the fucking spirit wolf)
> 
> So I am literally updating this as I finish writing the chapters, hence why this one took so long (total word count for this chapter is like 13,708. Twice as long as the first chapter //ugh), and why updates may not be so evenly spaced out.
> 
> ALso I drew some sketches and wrote some HIGHLY IMPORTANT information that you can find all in this tumblr post http://woodlandeelf.tumblr.com/post/125151521628/so-yeah-uh-just-some-sketches-of
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! (I tried to post when AO3 was down so the original end notes were very different and now I cant remember what I wrote before...)


	3. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.  
> Foul and corrupt are they  
> Who have taken His gift  
> And turned it against His children.  
> They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.  
> They shall find no rest in this world  
> Or beyond.  
> -Transfigurations 1:2

In hindsight, they probably should have been tipped off that something was wrong when they arrived at the gates to find a brand new Fade rift.

It was unlike any rift they had encountered before.  The Disciple crossed a hidden glyph on the ground, and found herself moving sluggishly, though her muscles felt fine.  On the other side of the rift, Adaar stepped on another hidden glyph, and had moved several yards in a matter of seconds.

'Watch your step!' she called to the others when she was finally free of the temporal distortion.

Adaar closed the rift, and the glyphs disappeared with it.

'What in Andraste's name was that?'  Varric said when they convened after the rift was closed.

'Something's not right,' Adaar replied, shifting her gaze between the opening gates to Redcliffe village and the empty space the Fade rift had occupied.  'Stay on your guard.'

The Fereldan guards let them into the village, and the Disciple felt uneasy as they walked down the winding main road.  Something was wrong; she could feel it prickling at the back of her neck.  Queen Anora had given the rebel mages sanctuary in Redcliffe, but that didn't explain why there seemed to be more mages than Fereldan villagers. 

They made their way to the tavern Fiona had said she'd meet them at, and upon entering, the unease she felt had descended into full-blown anxiety.

Adaar turned to her friends.  'Let me handle this,' she said, 'stay here and watch the room.  I don't like anything about this.'

Iron Bull, Varric, Solas, and the Disciple waited, watching Adaar approach an elvhen woman in Circle mage robes, who the Disciple understood to be Fiona.  She couldn't read what they were saying from this angle.

Then they both turned as a man entered the tavern, dressed in foreign silks and finery, flanked by two others.

Fiona's body language changed.  The new man was commanding, emanating an aura of power and control.  He sat down, and Fiona  _backed off._

A few minutes passed, and one of the young men in the stranger's company fell _onto_ Adaar.  She caught him, righting him as the stranger abruptly stood.  He said something to Adaar, and left with the ill man, Fiona, and the other guards.  Adaar watched them go, then approached her companions, her fist clenched.  

She quickly explained the situation: Grand Enchanter Fiona had allied with a Tevinter magister named Alexius, and all the mages in Redcliffe served him.  The Arl and many others were no longer in Redcliffe, and Fiona had no recollection of asking Adaar to meet with her.

Then she opened her fist, revealing a crumpled piece of parchment.

'Come to the Chantry.  You are in danger,' she read.

'Well, that's a trap if I ever heard one,'  Iron Bull said, and the Disciple crossed her arms.

'I don't think so.  Felix faked that fall to give me this, Alexius can't be behind it,' Adaar replied.

'That's what they _want_ you to think.'

'We're going.  I need to know what's happening.  First the temporal distortions, now Fiona doesn't remember even _meeting me_ in Val Royeaux, and a Tevinter magister is in charge of rebel mages in Ferelden?'

The Disciple grunted, a low vibration echoing down her throat.  She didn't like this, didn't like this whole situation.  Why didn't the Arl stop this?

Adaar didn't let them even try to persuade her as she left the tavern and had them scrambling to catch up.  She hastened down the road to the Chantry and pushed the doors open.

Inside was chaos.

A Fade rift - in the center of the Chantry?  A mage was fighting demons there, seemingly on the last stretch of his energy.  Adaar, the Disciple, and the others quickly joined the fray, killing demons and coming to the strange mage's aid.  The rift was the same as the one they closed outside Redcliffe - hidden glyphs and spots on the ground carried temporal distortions, speeding up or slowing down their movements.  The Disciple tried to avoid the ones that slowed her down, utilizing the spots that sped her movements to her advantage.  She froze several of the demons for the others to shatter, her ice sword glinting in the light of the rift.  

When the last demon died, Adaar closed the Fade rift, the mage's eyes widened in wonder.  She turned on the mage, approaching him.  The Disciple stood off to the side, now able to read them both.

'Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.  How do you do?'

'What are you doing here?  Where is Felix?'

'I'm sure he's on his way.  He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.'

'Alexius couldn't jump to Felix's side fast though when he pretended to be faint.  Is something wrong with him?'

'He's had some lingering illness for months.  Felix is an only child, and Alexius is being a mother hen, most likely.'

'And. . .are you a magister, like Alexius?'

'All right.  Let's say this once.  I am a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magesterium.  I know you Southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.'

'Better than slave lords,' she grumbled under her breath, the vibrations that spread across her lips small enough that they probably didn't hear it.

'Are you the one that sent the note, then?' Adaar continued, sparing her Disciple a glance ( _she heard it_ ). 

'I am.  Someone had to warn you, after all.  Look, you must know there's danger.  That should be obvious even without the note.  Let's start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you.'

Adaar turned her head, furrowing her brow.  

'As if by magic, yes?  Which is exactly right.  To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.'

'I've never heard of magic that controls  _time._ '

'The rift you closed - you saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down?'

The Disciple bristled at the thought that the Breach and Alexius could be connected.  How was it possible - could Alexius open rifts?

'Soon, there will be more like it, and they'll appear further and further away from Redcliffe.  The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it's unravelling the world.'

'How can I know what you're telling me is even true?  How do you know so much?'

'Look, I know what I'm talking about.  I helped _develop_ this magic.  I was still his apprentice, and back then, it was pure theory.  It didn't actually _work_.  Now, what I don't understand is why he's doing it - ripping time apart just to gain the alliance of a few hundred mages?'

In the corner of her eye, the Disciple saw Felix approach.  Her eyes flicked to his lips as he stepped into the light.

'He didn't do it for them.'  Felix looked to Dorian as he said something, and then turned to Adaar, and immediately began relaying information.  'My father's joined a cult of Tevinter supremacists.  They call themselves "Venatori."  And I can tell you one thing:  whatever he's done, he's done to get to you.'

The Disciple was  _thrumming._ She looked from Adaar to Varric, Solas to Iron Bull.  All their faces were of guarded worry, curiosity, unease - she felt downright  _fearful._

'He's your father - why are you telling me this?'

'The same reason Dorian is.  I love my father, and I love my country.  But this?  Cults?   _Time magic?_  What he's doing is madness.  For his own sake, you have to stop him.'

'It would also be nice if he didn't rip a hole in time,' Dorian added, 'there's already a hole in the sky.'

'Okay, I'll bite,' Adaar said, drawing both the Tevinters' attention, 'why is he doing all this just to get to me?'

'They're obsessed with you,'  Felix shrugged, 'I don't know why.  Perhaps because you survived the explosion at the Conclave?'

Dorian's brow furrowed, and a look crossed his face.  'You can close the rifts.  Perhaps there's a connection?  Or they think of you as a threat?'

'If the Venatori are behind the rifts, or the Breach, then this is worse than I thought.'

Adaar paused, her fine face smooth as stone and calculating.  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and said, 'okay.  How do we stop him?'

'You know you're his target,' Dorian said, 'You're already at an advantage.  Now, I can't stay in Redcliffe.  Alexius doesn't know I'm here, and I want to keep it that way for now.  I'll be in touch with you, Herald.'

Dorian and Felix exchanged a goodbye of sorts before he heft, and Felix turned to Adaar.

'I can't be seen with you, so I must take my leave as well.  I just hope you can stop him before he does something drastic - more so than he already has.'

Felix left, disappearing into the shadows of the Chantry, and Adaar turned to her companions.

'Lets get out of here.'

As they left Redcliffe, she felt the eyes of the mages on her back even beyond the gates.  Her nerves put her on edge.  If it weren't for the Inquisition, what if those eyes belonged to her?

They re-convened at camp, sitting in a circle around the dead campfire.

'Well, Pointy, did that help at all with the decision-making?'  Varric clapped his hands together, which had drawn the Disciple's attention, although the question was directed at Adaar.

'It only made me trust them less.  But I cannot leave this Alexius in charge of Redcliffe  - not when he's able to use this ''time magic."  Solas, do you know anything about this?'

He shook his head, 'I've never studied it, nor heard of it before.  I agree, this threat must be eliminated.'

Adaar turned back to Varric.

'I've had my share of weird magic, I'd like to get rid of it before it gets out of hand.'

'Bull?'

'Boss, I'm not really a fan of 'Vints.  Especially magisters.'

Adaar turned to her at last, where she had been sitting in silence.  The Disciple straightened, meeting Adaar's gaze and opening her mouth, letting the words flow.

'I want to free the mages.  I will do anything you ask to do so.'

* * *

 

Their return to Haven was rushed.  They had much to do to prepare their plan of attack for dealing with Alexius and freeing the mages from his hold.  There were several other tasks to be done, tasks that could not wait any longer.

Upon their return to Haven, Adaar got Blackwall set up with the rest of the Inquisition.  The man seemed guarded, yet at ease, at the heart of the growing power that the Inquisition had become.  The Disciple watched him and Adaar converse from afar, on her own way to the training yard.

Later that day, Adaar and her advisors met in the war room for several hours, no doubt relaying everything she learned from Dorian and Felix to her advisors.  Solas, Varric, and the Iron Bull were all called into the Chantry to give their perspectives, as well.  The whole party, except for her.

Because she couldn't hear, her information was limited, of course.

Bitter, she walked to the tavern, not just to eat, but to drink.  The barmaid gave her a horn of ale, and she sat down.

Patrons came and left.  The tavern got emptier and emptier, until the barmaid shooed the Disciple outside into the dark of the night.  The wind chilled her; she hadn't much to drink, and the buzz of ale that flittered through her gut did little to keep her warm.  Slowly, she began the walk back to her tent, staff in hand, her cloak fastened at the neck but otherwise flapping around her in the wind.  Winter was on their doorstep, and the wind blew a little harder as the air grew even colder and the days got shorter.

As she crouched to enter her tent, a flash of silver in the corner of her eye caught her attention.  She turned, her eyes searching the dark to find what caused it.

Across the road, in the training yard, a human shape was furiously attacking one of the training dummies, their shield glinting in the reflection of the moon.  She stood, and slowly approached the figure, keeping enough distance between herself and their sword.  The shape of the fur collar draped over his shoulders and pauldrons gave him away, and she honestly wasn't surprised it was him out here.

'It's awfully late for training,' she said, illuminating the crystal of her staff to bring light to their faces.

The Commander jumped in surprise, nearly dropping his sword.  He recovered it, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck.

'I couldn't sleep.'

'So you're hitting a scarecrow with a sword in the place of, what, a warm glass of milk?'

' _No_ ,' he said, and with a swinging motion of his arm, stuck the sword in thy dummy's side and let go, watching as the sword remained.  'I'm sorry, that was - I'm not having a very good night.'

She didn't pry, only hummed her acknowledgement and leaned on her staff. 

'What are _you_ up so late for?'

'Oh, drinking my troubles away, as one does.'

'What for?'

She gave him a look, narrowing her eyes.  'I suppose you wouldn't understand.'

'Try me.'

She sighed.  Did she really want to be having this conversation with the Commander, of all people?  One who was directly involved in her exclusion from the meeting?

But why not?  It was, after all, a perfect opportunity to yell at him.  She hadn't done that very much lately - it had something to do with him being a generally decent person.

So she told him of the encounter with Alexius in the tavern, where she couldn't read the conversation but everyone else heard it.  She told him of the annoyance of not being able to read through Blackwall's mustache, the frustration of trying to keep track of who was talking in groups of more than three, how anyone wearing a helmet or mask over their faces instantly barred her from communication. 

'You just don't understand how useless I felt when everyone else was called into that War Room _but me_.  Everything is just a big fat reminder of how cut off I truly am from other people, the world - I hate it!'

She was seething, her one and a half arms gesturing wildly as she ranted, moving the light of her staff, shifting the light and shadows across the Commander's face.  He listened in silence, his lips a flat line.

'Why would the Maker let this happen?' she continued, 'why would He curse me to live this way - robbed of who I once was, born new and lost?  Why did I live and not the others?  Why didn't he let me  _die?'_

In fury, she stuck her staff through the snow into the ground, the light flaring before going out entirely.  She let go of the staff, sinking to her knees.   _Why_ did she live?  Why did she survive and not the Divine?  Or the Grand Clerics, or the other mages?  Why did the Maker choose  _her?_

'Even now,' she said, breathing out, looking to the clear, starry sky.  She watched the silhouette crouching before her, the moon reflecting silver off his curly hair, gray off his skin.  Everything else was dark, shaded.  'Even now, without any fucking light, I'm useless.  I'm completely useless.  I can't read anyone if I can't see anyone.'

It was still.  Then, the lightest of feather-touches on her right shoulder, the leather gloves he wore barely brushing her burned skin.  She shivered at the hum of lyrium that echoed into her skin, her bones.  Maker, it's difficult being friends with a templar.

They knelt in the snow, his hand a gentle tether in the dark.

She laughed.  It felt harsh, quick breaths out, rattling her rib cage.

'Maker.  This is rather not how I intended my night to go.'

She brushed off his hand, rising to her feet.  She pulled her staff from the ground where the blade was stuck, holding it securely in her hand.  The Disciple did not illuminate her staff crystal once more.  Instead, she turned to watch the Commander stand up.

'If you're ever having a bad night - well, I live just over there.  If you need to talk to someone.  I know there's stuff you don't want to talk about yet, and maybe you're not ready to share them.  But talking helps.  And I can always turn out the light.

'Anyway.  Thanks for listening.  I hope you can get some sleep tonight.'

She turned, walking towards her tent, her pulse calm.

 

* * *

Adaar left the next day for the Fallow Mire, taking with her Blackwall, Sera, and Vivienne, letting the others rest after their Hinterlands expedition.  She gave her Disciple a parting hug, with a promise to return as soon as the missing soldiers were rescued.

'And then we will free the mages from Alexius?'

Adaar nodded, stroking her hair, free from it's usual braid. 

'Yes, my friend.  We will.'  She left, and the Disciple watched her go, all the way out of Haven.

* * *

 

The Disciple and Cassandra had an interesting relationship, to say the least.  To spend months in one's company meant friendship was unavoidable, yet politically, they could not be more different.  Of the few things they agreed on, Adaar was one of them.  Both women believed in the Herald's ability to close the Breach, to save Thedas, that Adaar had been guided by Andraste's grace.

In times of silence and stillness, they were quite companionable.  

Cassandra was seated on the floor facing the Disciple, who also sat cross-legged, before the hearth in the tavern late at night.  She held her sword in her lap, sharpening and shining the blade, teaching the Disciple to do the same with her own staff blade.

As she carefully worked the grinding stone, Cassandra lightly tapped her knee.

'I wanted to thank you,' she said, 'Cullen doesn't have many friends in the Inquisition.  I'm glad he has you.'

'Why are _you_ thanking me?'

'Because I'm his only other friend,' she smiled, but to the Disciple it was bittersweet, 'and he's either too stubborn or too blind to admit he needs friends.'

'Probably a lot of both,' she said, and watched as a sly grin pulled at Cassandra's lips.

'He may not be agreeable at times, of course,' Cassandra shrugged, resuming her work of polishing her sword, 'and I would be lying if I said I was not surprised that you are the one he finds a friend in, considering your nature and your history - even if you do not remember it.  But he talks about you sometimes.  It comforts me to know he has a support system.'

She nodded, understanding.  She chewed her lip, and looked down where her staff blade lay in her lap.  Looking back to Cassandra, she leaned forward, hoping her words would come out as a whisper.

'A few nights ago, we were speaking, and. . .he doesn't sleep, and he looks thin. . .'

'He's lived though many awful things.  Did you know he was a Knight-Captain in Kirkwall at the start of the mage rebellion?'

Cold shock sunk low in her gut.  'What?  No, I didn't know. . .'

'He knew the Champion, and the apostate Anders, long before the destruction of the Chantry.  He became Knight-Commander there afterwards, and quickly restored order in the Gallows there, and the city.  When I left the Seekers and Leliana and I started the Inquisition, we were in Kirkwall, and I saw his potential.  I recruited him, and it was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made.

'I am aware of other troubles that plague him, but it is not my place to tell you.  That is his choice to make.'

'Cassandra?'

'Yes?'

'What were the Seekers like?'

She looked at her with plain astonishment, eyebrows raised high and mouth ajar.  But her curiosity was genuine, and Cassandra quickly recovered.  She regaled her with the history of the Seekers, from their founding to the roles they played in the history of Thedas, eventually to the people she knew as a Seeker, her mentors, her apprentices, her friends.  Their blades were set aside, original tasks forgotten as Cassandra spoke, her hands moving with the story, as the Disciple read her lips in marked earnest, absorbing as much as she could.

They talked till the sun rose, when they were so exhausted they walked arm in arm back to their tents, laughing as they bid each other goodnight in the pink light of dawn.

* * *

 

Adaar returned two weeks later, and it was time to answer Alexius's invitation. 

Adaar, Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and the Commander disappeared into the War Room to plan.  The Disciple, Sera, Varric, and the Iron Bull were gathered by the warm fire outside Varric's tent in the center of Haven, listening to and reading Sera rant and rave about the Fallow Mire.

'And all the pissin' undead everywhere!  You touch the fuckin' water and they're _on you._ I fuckin' hate undead.'  She made a face, sticking her tongue out, and shivered comically.

Varric pointed, and the Disciple followed his direction to someone in fine foreign robes hastily crossing through the village.

'Is that - Dorian?' she cocked her head.  Did Adaar contact him?  He strode meaningfully towards the Chantry.  She looked at Iron Bull, who only shrugged at her.

'I guess we might be leaving soon,' Varric shrugged, taking a swig from his flask.  Sera reached over the Disciple's lap and took it from him, pulling several swallows.

And they were.  An hour later, Adaar and Dorian emerged from the Chantry, Cassandra close behind.  She motioned for Varric and the Disciple, and they met her on the Chantry steps. 

'Pack for a fight.  I'll tell you the plan along the way, but just - prepare yourselves, okay?'  She had never seen Adaar look so worried.  'Alexius is powerful.  And he's  _smart._  We'll reconvene in an hour at the stables, we're going as soon as possible.'

Varric nodded, and left.  Adaar clasped the back of her Disciple's neck, pulling their foreheads together.

'You know I stand with you through everything,' she said, offering Adaar comfort.  The larger woman nodded, and released her.  She turned to return to her tent to pack, and made it just to the gates when a heavy hand clasped her shoulder, and she jumped at the lyrium humming, turning to face the Commander.

He looked like he just ran from the Chantry - which, in all fairness, he just had.  He removed his hand from her person, catching his breath.

'I'm sure Adaar will tell you everything,' he said, 'and I know everything will be fine, but - please, just be _careful_ , alright?'

She looked at him, bewildered, until she remembered what Cassandra had said two weeks ago.  They were his only friends, and both were leaving for a dangerous mission.

Fighting the urge to flinch, she reached for his hand, grasping it, not letting go.

'I promise you I will return safely.  All of us will.  We'll be back before you even know we're gone.'

With that, she released his hand, and reached under the collar of her tunic to pull at a fine chain.  On their travels to the Hinterlands, Adaar came across many trinkets looted from fallen enemies.  One of them was a fine amulet, enchanted with protection, which Adaar had gifted to her.

Now, she pulled the amulet over her head, untangling it from her loose hair.  She held it out for him to take in his hand.

'I don't understand -'

'It's insurance.  I'm coming back for that amulet, so I want you to keep it safe until I do.'

Firmly clasping it, he held it to his stomach, though she supposed he might rather hold it to his chest.

'I'll be seeing you soon.'

'Safe travels, Disciple.'

* * *

 

Honestly, it had all happened so fast, she didn't know what to do.

Things were going according to plan.  Alexius' men were taken out, and he was cornered.  Then there was that damn amulet and she had to do  _something_.

Which turned out to be jumping between Adaar and Alexius, and very suddenly, found herself standing in waist-deep water with Adaar and Dorian in a  _very_ unfamiliar room, puzzled to no end. 

Dorian tried to explain, and she tried to understand, and Adaar seemed to be the better listener of the bunch because she nodded along whereas the Disciple became horribly lost the moment he suggested they had just travelled through _time_. 

Then they were being attacked, and she was getting really pissed off with this whole time travel thing.

The guards were dead almost instantly, and Adaar notched another arrow, already headed through the door, her Disciple and Dorian hot on her heels.

They killed several more guards, and her sword of ice was dripping blood as they walked through the maze of a dungeon they found themselves in, until Adaar turned around, exasperated. 

'How the fuck do we find out what happened and get out of this fucking dungeon when everyone keeps attacking us?'

The Disciple breathed a sigh, feeling a deep rumble in her throat as she groaned.  Adaar turned around once more and headed left down a passageway.

They descended two flights of stairs, until they came to a room filled with massive crystals of red lyrium.  The Discple let out a flurry of sounds, and was instantly glad Varric wasn't there to see it.

Until she turned around, and behind bars, was  _Varric._

He looked ill.  Red lyrium seemed to be growing small crystals under his skin, turning his eyes a glowing red.  His face was gaunt, and he looked to be in pain.

Adaar smashed open the lock with her foot, and he looked at her like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. 

'Where's Cassandra?'  Adaar asked, while her Disciple busied herself with a healing aura to mend any and all open sores on his skin that she could see.   _Red lyrium_.  She hated the thrum it made in her bones, against her head, and endless beating that stung her nose.   _Hated it._

'Somewhere.  They separated us after. . .after. . .Andraste's flaming ass I can't believe you're _alive_.'

'Dorian will explain on the way.  Will you be alright?'

'I will be in a second,' he said, and crossed the prison room to a chest, kicking it open.  Inside sat Bianca, dusty and a little rusty, but it was Bianca.  He slung her over his shoulder, and grinned at them.  'All better.'

They dashed out of there, up the stairs, wandering corridor after corridor.  She watched for more guards while Adaar and Dorian explained to Varric in words she didn't read about how they had only just been in Redcliffe Castle when Alexius used the time spell. 

Varric stopped still.  'That was a long, long time ago,' he admitted, and soberly, they continued on.

Deep down another passage, the corridor opened up to a room absolutely full of red lyrium crystals.  The Disciple looked into the prison cell, meeting the eyes of Grand Enchanter Fiona.

Or what was left of her.

Red lyrium grew from her - massive crystals that forced her to stand against the wall.  The elvhen woman was in agony, and the Disciple marveled at how she still lived.

When Fiona told them they had missed a year, she picked an empty bottle from the ground and hurled it against the wall, finding little release in watching it shatter.  Her sword of ice flared, more shards of ice condensing on her arm, the sword growing longer and more jagged.  Heaving a breath, she fought the urge to run and find Alexius and skewer him until his flesh met her shoulder.

Adaar was on her side, placating her.

'Come.  We need to find Cassandra, we need to find out what happened.'

She spared a look to Fiona as they left, feeling sorry for the dying woman as they left her behind.  It would have been kinder to put her out of her misery.

* * *

Cassandra's condition was just as bad as Varric's.  A year spent imprisoned in Redcliffe, tortured and forced into close quarters with red lyrium, had changed her.  Her skin was clammy, her veins red and angry, and her eyes had the same red glow where the red lyrium had infected her.

The Disciple cried out for her friend, reaching to embrace her, but was met with a solid hand to her chest.  Cassandra pushed her _away_.

'I - I'm sorry.' she apologized, 'there is no time.  After you died, we couldn't stop the Elder One from rising.  Empress Celene was murdered, and the army that swept in afterwards. . .it was a horde of _demons_.  Nothing could stop them.  Nothing.'

'We should have been there - we should have stopped this.'

'You're here now.  That's all that matters.'

Cassandra and Varric had some inkling of how to get out of the dungeons, as they had been taken down a year ago.

They found a mess hall of sorts full of guards and Venatori.  The battle was dirty, and she nearly got her head lobbed off by a guard's sword had Cassandra's shield not blocked it.  The Disciple used Fade-cloak to step through him, re-materializing behind him, and severed his torso from his legs with her sword of ice. 

When the battle was won, she darted around between her friends and Dorian, healing their wounds.  When she got to Dorian, she stared fiercely into his eyes.

'We have to fix this,' she said, frowning.

'Believe me, we will.'

She healed the cut on his arm and returned to Adaar's side. 

They continued their way through the underbelly of the castle, stopping only when Varric or Cassandra faltered in step or became to weak to move an arm or a leg and doubled over in pain.  She would heal them as best as she could and keep moving on, though would often glance in their direction.  The red lyrium's poison was embedded in their very flesh.  By her best guess, they would die soon. 

They had to go back and prevent all this from happening.  They _had to_ \- failure was not an option.

They passed a door, and Adaar pressed her ear to it, listening.  The Disciple looked around at the faces of her friends, trying to gauge what they were hearing.

Suddenly, Adaar burst through the door, and the Disciple followed close behind, staff and sword at the ready.

And there was Leliana, her arms strung up to the ceiling, legs wrapped around the neck of her captor, breaking it.  He fell, and Adaar rushed forward, searching his lifeless body for the key to free Leliana. 

She was shocked to see the wear and scarring on her face.  A year had done so much damage, so much pain to the woman who was normally so thoughtful and kind.  She could barely be called the same woman.  She seemed to care only for killing Alexius, for returning Adaar, Dorian, and the Disciple to the past.

She didn't like this Leliana. 

Leliana directed them towards the royal wing of the castle.  To do so, they had to go outside.

When she saw it, the threw up.

The Breach was _everywhere_.  It swallowed the whole sky.  Everyone, everything, was bathed in green light.  Great pieces of the earth were caught in the Breach's orbit, floating in a sea of green fire and mist. 

When she was done retching, Cassandra helped her stand, helping her along behind Adaar.  The Herald's mark flared, and at the end of the courtyard, a Fade rift opened, numerous demons spilling out. 

The fight was awful.  She felt weak, and fearful of the sky that swallowed the world.  She fought hard, but her mana ran low, and Solas wasn't there with more lyrium draughts for her. 

The fight stopped.  She looked around, and found no rift in the Veil, no demons littering the ground.  The courtyard was clear, and the Breach above muted.

A figure approached.  A man, older than she - bearing the same tan skin, same dark hair.  He was dressed in fine clothes, and held himself regally.  Something about him was familiar, so, _so_ familiar, but she didn't know his face. 

'Come home, darling,' he beckoned, stretching out his arm for her.  She took a cautious step forward, her eyes glued to his lips. 

'Who are you?'

'You don't know?  I can help you remember.  Come home, my dear, and all will be well again.  Look child - the Breach is sealed, the Inquisition is over.  The Circle is gone.  You can come _home_.'

She looked up, around - the sky was blue once more, the castle around them no longer in ruins.  Flowers bloomed in the courtyard, and birds flew high in the arm light of the sun.  Home?  She turned her eyes to the man.

'It's. . .over?'

'It's all over,' he nodded, smiling. 

'And if I come with you, I will. . .I'll remember who I was?'

'More than that my darling.  You will remember your family, your brothers and sisters.  Your noble house and all it's power.  Come with me and you can hear once more.'

She walked to him, her eyes glistening, searching his wonderful face.  Grey hairs peppered his brown hair, and fine lines were etched into his face.  He was beautiful, he was familiar, he was _home_.  Oh but who was he - she would know soon.

'I will come,' she said, drawing closer, her heart soaring, 'I want to remember, I want to _hear_ once more.'

'Of course you do,' he smiled, his hand reaching out, caressing her cheek.  'I just need you to do one thing for me.'

'Anything.'

'Kill Adaar.'

Her heart stopped.  No, she read it wrong, she had to - _no, no no no,_  she thought, stepping away.  The beautiful world fell apart.  Green light seeped in through the cracks, the clean stone of the castle blackening, crumbling, falling to ruins.  The man's wonderful face fell away.

Before her floated a Desire demon.

She screamed, felt her throat tearing, her sword of ice poised.  She buried the ice through the demon's belly all the way to her flesh and blood, then drew the sword out, slashing, cutting a hole out of the demon.  An arrow buried itself in the demon's head, and it disappeared into a cloud of mist and shimmering demon essence.

She turned around and saw Adaar.  Worry was writ across her face.   _Adaar.  Alive, still breathing, Adaar._

'I'm okay,' she croaked, chest heaving as she fought for breath to steady her erratic heart.  The Fade rift remained, and Adaar turned to close it with her mark.  The Breach above swallowed the sky, and she fought the urge to retch all over again.

They pressed on, and only Cassandra seemed to understand how close she had come to possession.  How easily the demon had her, begging for his hand.

But who's image had it taken?

* * *

 

The bloody door was locked.

'I think I may know how to unlock it,' Dorian had said, and soon they were off looking for specific shards of red lyrium.  Maker, she couldn't bring herself to touch the stuff.  But for the sake of the mission, she did, pulling it off the chains around the neck of spellbinders and passing it to Adaar.

As they searched the castle, she turned to Leliana, and nervously spoke.

'What happened to the Inquisition?  What - what of the Commander?'

Everyone stopped, and looked to Leliana.  The woman regarded her cooly, and pursed her lips before speaking.

'After all of you died - disappeared - the Inquisition retaliated.  Commander Cullen led two massive sieges of Redcliffe Castle, but it was too well defended, and our numbers too small.  I managed to steal myself into the castle with my agents to free Cassandra and Varric, but I was caught.  Cullen. . .the Inquisition threw themselves at the Castle, at the Venatori, until it perished.  He was among the casualties.

'I know not of Josephine.  I assume she perished with the rest of the world when the Elder One's demon army rose.'

Absently, the Disciple touched the empty place at her neck where the amulet once lay.   _It hadn't been enough._

She shared a look of sorrow and mourning with Cassandra, and felt Adaar's hand on her back.  She looked to her Herald, and watched her lips move.

'Lets keep going.  We have enough pieces.'

* * *

 

Alexius was expecting them.

She could not read him as he and Adaar spoke, but when the whole castle shook, nearly throwing her to her knees, she caught Alexius's words.

'The Elder One comes for me, for you, for us all.'

Then Leliana's blade cut through Felix's throat - if you could call that husk of a human Felix, the boy had died long ago - and Alexius attacked, and all hell broke loose.

She killed demons, Venatori, and watched as Adaar closed every rift that opened in the Great Hall.  Finally, Adaar's arrows pierced Alexius's heart, and the man was dead. 

But the Elder One still came.

'If I can just have an hour to reverse the spell,' Dorian began, pulling the amulet from Alexius's dead body.

'You don't _have_ an hour!' Leliana protested, and the castle shook again.  Cassandra and Varric shared knowing look, and stepped forward.

'We'll hold them off.  Fix this, and make sure none of this comes to pass,' Cassandra said, and turned, Varric at her side.  They headed for the main doors.

'Do your spell.  You have as much time as I have arrows,' Leliana said, drawing her bow.  The doors closed behind Cassandra and Varric, and Leliana aimed at the place where the two doors met.

Adaar, Dorian, and the Disciple hurried to the dais, where Dorian began working his spell.  The Disciple watched in agony when the doors burst open, demons and Venatori pouring in.  A terror demon dropped Cassandra's lifeless body just inside the Great Hall like she was a rag doll.  

Leliana's arrows flew through the air, hitting their targets.  Venatori walked with the demons, archers firing arrows back.  One buried itself in Leliana's shoulder, but she kept shooting - kept fighting.  She ran out of arrows and flung herself at the Venatori.

One of them caught her around the neck.  She watched hopelessly as Leliana died, and restrained Adaar as she lunged for the fallen.  

A flash of blue light, and once again she saw Cassandra and Varric, and the Great Hall was no longer in shambles, and Alexius was falling to his knees. 

They won.

* * *

 

One surprising audience with the Queen of Ferelden later, the mages were conscripted into service of the Inquisition as punishment for allying with a Tevinter magister, and the Disciple was exhausted, physically and emotionally.  She, Adaar, and Dorian had seen a future without the Inquisition's intervention, and it was not a future where anyone could survive.

The journey to Haven began, the mages walking behind, and the going was slow and steady.  When they made camp for the night, she couldn't stop herself from embracing Cassandra in a hug, burying her face in her neck.  The woman was surprised, and stiffened at first, but when she told her of her future self's sacrifice, she let herself relax into it, comforting her friend.

The three time-travelers refrained from speaking of the horror they saw together.  Another time, when they had a few days to process all they learned, they would.  But not yet.

The Disciple did not sleep.  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the Breach spreading across the sky, her friends dying, the Commander and the Inquisition gone, the demon that had so nearly possessed her. 

The image the demon had taken, the older man who looked so much like herself - how had the demon known to take that form, when she herself could not recognize it?  He - the demon - offered her her memories, her hearing.  Demons always lie, she knew - but what if?  What if the demon could truly give those things back to her?

She couldn't take them from a demon.  No, she would fight for these things herself.  They were, after all, her greatest desires.

* * *

 

At the end of their journey, Haven was in the distance, its chimneys pumping smoke into the cloudy sky.  Snow drifted down, harder than usual, the first sign that winter was upon them.  The caravan of soldiers and mages entered Haven, and the Disciple left her horse at the stables, dropping her pack and her staff at her tent, refusing to speak to anyone until she saw him first.

He waited with Josephine and Leliana at the Chantry, standing tall and  _alive._  She could barely look at Leliana without seeing her weary body stuck with arrows, a Venatori's hands snapping her neck.  Here in the present, she looked well, happy even.  Adaar's mission had been successful.   _But at what cost?_

Adaar and Dorian at her side, they entered the Chantry and began the debriefing.  She couldn't bring herself to feel proud that she had been included in the process - too many awful things were to be spoken of, shared.  She watched Josephine's face pale at what they shared; the Commander's mouth formed a hard line, the wrinkle of his brow grew longer, deeper.  Leliana absorbed the information as she expected she would.  She could see the wheels turning in her head, plotting, planning, formulating a way to prevent the Elder One from getting what he wants.

It felt like days before they finally left the War Room, though in reality it had only been a couple hours.  As a result, Dorian joined the Inquisition,and the group dispersed. 

He waited for her at the doors of the Chantry.  She took a deep breath and approached, feeling naked without her staff.

'Would you mind -'

She didn't let him finish, throwing her arm around his middle, pressing her face into the large fur collar over his shoulders.  Under her arm, where her hand pressed under his coat against his back, she felt his muscles tense up.  Of course, she knew she had taken him by surprise.

She felt warmer as his arms tentatively wrapped around her shoulders, testing, making sure it was okay.  She ignored the dull thrumming of lyrium from his body, breathing in the dusty aroma of the fur, simply thankful he was alive.  Opening her eyes, she watched as her breath blew across the strands of fur, how the rise and fall of his own chest moved. 

'Maker's breath, Cullen, I'm so glad you're alive.'

He pulled away so she could read him, and she missed the warmth he provided.  The man was a _furnace_ under all that armor and fabric and ridiculous furs.

And he was. . .laughing?

'Why in Andraste's name are you  _laughing?'_

'Because,' he said, and tried rubbing away the grin from his face - she wished he wouldn't, because he didn't smile _nearly_ enough for a healthy person - 'I don't think you've ever actually said my name before, and - Maker don't freeze me for this - you're saying it  _wrong_.'

'So you're mocking me?'

'What?  No!  I - oh Maker.  No, it's endearing, really -' he stopped himself and controlled his wits, bracing an arm on her shoulder.  'Please, as you were saying.'

She regarded him with a cool look, but kept on, her fingers closing around his wrist.

'I - well, you heard us in there, about what happened - or, what could have happened.  Cullen, you _died_.  I didn't come back, and you died laying siege to Redcliffe, the amulet didn't work, it's supposed to _protect you_ -'

'Stop.  Look,' he pulled the chain at his neck, freeing the amulet from where it rested under his armor.  'It did work.  Okay?  I'm right here, I'm alive.  You, Adaar, Cassandra - you're all alive, all of you came back.  You came back, just like you promised.'

She moved her hand from his wrist to touch the amulet, running her thumb over the runes etched into the small stone disk.  It was warm in her hand, from where it had been pressed against his chest.

'None of what you saw is real.'

'But it _was_ real.  it's real somewhere else, in a timeline where the Elder One won, the Breach consumed the sky - Cullen, I've never been more afraid than when I saw _that_ future.'

'Then we will make sure that future never comes to pass.'  The ferocity in his gaze as he spoke made her nod.  Yes, they would close the Breach.  They now had the mages at their disposal, they could really do it.

'Now,' he continued, straightening his back and removing his hand from her shoulder, 'would you mind accompanying me on a walk?'

'Of course, Cul _len_.'

'You're still not saying it right,' he said, but she caught him blushing ear to ear, and figured that she was close enough.  She weaved her arm through his, ignoring the lyrium hum, seeking some of the warmth she felt hugging him before.

They walked through haven and past the gates, stopping to watch the recruits train.  Something by the stables caught her eye.  She leaned forward to get a better look around Cullen's chest.

She recognized Adaar from behind, engaged in some conversation with Blackwall.  The woman held her hands clasped behind her back, and was leaning against the wall as she looked down on Blackwall, whose body language was rather inclined towards her. 

'Do you think they know they're attracted to each other?' she said lowly, and watched Cullen's face as he turned to look.  He looked back to her, and saw how the sun turned his brown eyes gold.

'You know, I don't think they do,' he said, and lightly covered her hand with his free one.  Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed, fighting the express urge to cover her face.

Cullen once again pulled at the amulet chain, pulling it up over his head.  He detangled their arms and took her hand palm-up, and placed the amulet at the center of it.

'What are you doing?'

'Well, you said it was insurance.  That you would come back for this.'

'No,' she shook her head, pressing the necklace back into his hand, 'you keep it.'

'You need protection far more than I -'

' _Keep it_.'

He met her glare, but her insistence won in the end, and he slid the chain over his head, returning the amulet to its place under his armor.

'Besides, what better insurance do I have to keep coming back safe?'  She tried to shrug it off, to make her posture aloof.

''So,' she continued walking, this time disconnected from Cullen so they could talk, 'tomorrow we march on the Breach and close it.  What happens to the Inquisition?'

'Well,' he said, falling into step beside her, 'I suppose we continue what Cassandra started - find a way to end the Mage-Templar war.  Originally, we wished to re-establish the Circles, broker peace and restore things to what they once were.  But now. . .' he spared a glance to the Disciple, who watched him intently, 'now our politics are different.  We still need an Inquisitor, someone to lead.  After the Breach is closed, perhaps the Templars will agree to speak to us, and we can get the negotiations started again.'

'Adaar conscripted the mages - they're Inquisition prisoners, aren't they?'

'Technically, yes.  They're more like our wards.  We will watch them and protect them, and negotiate with Fiona, but their control is very limited.'

'I suppose you're rather pleased they're not really. . .free.'

'I'm not - I'm put at ease by it, yes.  That doesn't mean it pleases me.'

'But you're a templar, are you not?'

'I _was_ a templar.  I left the Order when I joined the Inquisition.' 

She wanted to bring up the lyrium in his blood, the very lyrium that thrummed against her skin, her bones, whenever they were close enough to touch.  She wanted to point out that as long as he took lyrium, he was a templar - attached to the very abilities that gave him power over mages like her.  But she didn't.

He was her friend, after all.

'And what will you do,' he asked, changing the subject, 'when this is all over?'

'I suppose I'll go wherever Adaar goes,' she shrugged, 'she is still the Herald of Andraste, and I am still her Disciple.  And her work isn't over, not really - this Elder One, the one Alexius serves, the one in the future, he killed the Empress of Orlais, rose an army of demons to fight the great nations of Thedas.  Adaar will stop him.  I - I believe the Breach is only the beginning.'

'What about your past?  Don't you want to know who you were?'

She sucked in a breath.  Thinking back on her encounter with the Desire demon, the image of the familiar man who asked her to kill Adaar, she understood how much she wanted to remember.  How _dangerously_ much.  With the Breach gone, she might give into that desire.

But was it good for her?  Or, like it so nearly had, would it destroy her?

She couldn't tell Cullen about the Desire demon.  It would only further his worries, affirm his fears, that mages were so easily susceptible to possession.  It would stay between her and Adaar - if Adaar even understood what had almost come to pass.

'If the Maker wills it, I will remember.  If not, well.  I'll figure something out, won't I?'

He pursed his lips at that.  Of course, he could probably read the uncertainty that was etched into her expression.

While he perused that information, she took notice of how much darker the circles under his eyes had gotten, how gaunt his face was.  Was he getting _any_ sleep?  Or eating, for that matter?  She would ask Cassandra later, when she and the Seeker had a moment alone together.  She looked at the scar that crossed his lips, now long healed, and rose higher than his nose.  It was red and scabbed when she first saw it, where now, it was flesh-toned, the skin around it and where it marred his lips pinched tight.  She wondered how much she had changed before the eyes of others - first, found singed and bleeding profusely, probably reeking, her burned skin oozing blood and pus.  She hadn't looked in a mirror much at all, but understood that the burns on her head prevented hair growth on that half of her head.  She was grateful she never saw herself after the explosion - and quite saddened that Cullen and Sister Cadence both saw her in such a sorry state. 

'Hey,' she said, 'why don't we go find Cassandra and get something to eat?'

'That sounds fine,' he said, and the Disciple was just grateful she could get the man to agree to eat something.

Tomorrow, the Inquisition would take on the Breach once more.  But tonight, they would drink and forget the lost future she saw in Redcliffe, and the way the Commander made her feel warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a family vacation, so this one was written in like...3 days? Yeah so, like I said, updates will definitely not be regular...
> 
> heres a link to remind you of this tumblr post with my headcanons/information blurbs for this fic  
> http://woodlandeelf.tumblr.com/post/125151521628/so-yeah-uh-just-some-sketches-of
> 
> (sorry for more in-game dialogue. Sometimes these story bits just can't be paraphrased elegantly)
> 
> and have yet even mORE drawings and information blurbs because apparently I can't stop drawing/spilling headcanons over everything http://woodlandeelf.tumblr.com/post/126005229593/you-dont-understand-how-much-im-crying-over


	4. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draw your last breath, my friends,  
> Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  
> Rest at the Maker's right hand,  
> And be Forgiven.  
> -Trials 1:16

At dawn, they began their march on the Breach. 

With them came Adaar's inner circle and the conscripted mages.  Solas and Cassandra walked on either side of Adaar with the Disciple, Blackwall, and Varric directly behind.

The Breach loomed above, a spinning, swirling mass of fire and fury.  The Temple of Sacred Ashes and the crater it had become sat in the hills, waiting for them.

She thought back on the day Adaar had taken her in, the day they first took on the Breach.  It had been many months ago, and so much had changed since then - so many new faces, so many experiences.  Maybe she never remembered what her life was before the Conclave, but she had created a new one here among friends, and she was changing the world.

They entered the Temple, and the mages stood around the edge of the depression at the center where the column of fire and light connected the Breach and the earth.  Some of the inner circle stayed back, the ones who were less comfortable with magic and the Fade, while Dorian, Vivienne, Solas, Cassandra, and the Disciple followed Adaar, as well as other soldiers, into the crater. 

Standing in rings around the center, the mages listened to Solas' directions, while Adaar faced the Breach.

They watched as the woman entered the column of Fade fire, trudging forward as if meeting resistance.  Her mark glowed, pulsing - she thrust the mark towards the heavens, towards the Breach, as the mages channeled their power through Adaar, into the mark.  Beams of power and light connected the mark and the Breach, and the rift that lay dormant at its heart.

The world flashed white as the rift exploded.  She was thrown back, slammed against stone walls.  

Her muscles and bones ached as she picked herself up, opening her eyes to a slightly dimmer environment.  Her head spun, and there would be bruises on her back for a few days.

She looked for Adaar.  Kneeling at the center of the crater was the Herald.  Cassandra was there, pushing through soldiers to help Adaar stand.

Above, the Fade fire, the rift, and the Breach were gone, and all that remained was a swirling cloud that marked where the Breach had once been.

Adaar did it.  The Breach was sealed, and a great weight lifted off her shoulders. 

* * *

 

When the group returned to Haven, a party had begun.

Villagers, mages, scouts, soldiers, and templars alike drank and ate, dancing to music she couldn't hear.  Iron Bull and his Chargers led a boisterous drinking game of sorts that attracted many.  The festivities filled every street in the village, and the energy that bounced around was so lively and full of joy, the Disciple danced with strangers to invisible beats.

The sun was shining down on Haven when she finally had a moment with Adaar.  They sat together on a stone fence within the village's walls, sharing a mug of ale.

'I never asked this before,' she said, turning to Adaar, 'but considering you're qunari, I read you saying the Maker's name a few times.  Are you Andrastian, Adaar?  Do you believe in the Maker and His bride?'

'You know, before all this,' she looked at her left hand, where the dark green mark slashed across the gray skin of her palm, 'I didn't put my faith in anything, really.  I was raised Tal-Vashoth, outside the Qun and its teachings.  My parents didn't raise me with religion.  But since coming to the Conclave, and all the events thereafter, I learned, and I accepted the Maker as a true God.  So yes, I am Andrastian.  Now.'

Adaar looked up as Blackwall approached, and the Disciple caught a hint of pink flushing her gray cheeks.

'I'll see you later, Adaar,' she smiled and took her leave, waving to Blackwall as they passed.

She wandered through the crowds, going nowhere in particular.  She passed Sera and Varric passing a bottle of wine between the two of them, and Vivienne talking with a pair of nobles who made the journey to Haven with impeccable timing.

She passed a group of dancers, and quickly moved aside to avoid getting knocked into, bumping into a tall body.

'My apologies, Dorian!' she said as he turned around.

'No worries.  It _is_ a lively, boisterous event.  You Southerners have interesting ideas of what constitutes as a party.  If this were Tevinter, at least three people should be dead by now.'

She laughed, a low, throaty vibration in her chest.  'Doesn't sound like a very fun party.'

'On the contrary, they're wildly entertaining!'  Dorian never fully smiled, but the smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth was enough to show his pleasure.

'You know, now that the Breach is sealed, that future - what we saw - it won't come to pass, will it?'

'Not that future, no,' he said, shaking his head, 'but don't count your dragon eggs before they start spitting fireballs at you.  There is plenty to do before we can truly rest easy.'

She nodded, humming.  There was so, so much to do, to prevent this Elder One's plans from coming to fruition.  The Breach was their first success - their next, allying with the templars to _really_ be a force to be reckoned with.

Dorian waved his hand in her field of view, snapping her from her thoughts.  Her eyes found his lips, refocusing.

'Lets not think so glumly this fine day, not when there is so much drink to be drunk and irresponsible choices to be made!' he said, and curved an arm around her back, his hand guiding her towards where a table had been set up, littered with various bottles and goblets.  She allowed herself to be pampered with wine, finding great enjoyment in allowing herself a moment of relaxation. 

Dorian sent her off to enjoy the celebration, a large goblet of wine in hand.

The sun was setting as she wandered the village, watching her friends and allies enjoying themselves.  Cassandra spoke briefly with her, favoring to watch the festivities in calculated peace and stillness, occasionally chatting with Leliana and Josephine.  It seemed that the Inquisition's founders had little time to break between their numerous tasks.  

She walked past the Chantry, finding Cullen with a clipboard in hand, a stack of reports eating away at his attention.  The furrow between his brows deepened as he read while walking through the crowds to Haven's gate, clearly on his way to the barracks.  With a sigh, she balanced her goblet so no wine spilled as she made her way through the moving crowds of revelers to follow him.

She finally caught him on the stairs between the two great mabari statues, calling out his name over what she expected to be plenty of noise.  He whirled, pivoting on his heel, looking up to meet her gaze. 

'Do you ever rest?' she chided, a smile spreading across her lips.  He looked away, scratching behind his ear with his free hand.  'Come on, work can wait.  We won a great victory today - celebrate!'

He shook his head, climbing a few steps closer towards her, gaining height but still having to look up to see her.  'I'm not really one for parties,' he admitted, gesturing towards where the rest of the Inquisition seemed to be congregated in the small village. 

'Come on.  Even _Cassandra_ has had wine,' she said, and took a long sip of her own drink.  'I thought the Maker himself would gasp when she did.' 

'Cassandra doesn't have thousands of troops to organize.'

'I think a rather good portion of your army is doing anything but work, be it here or in the valley.' 

He breathed out a sigh, a release of breath so large his shoulders visibly dripped under his furs.  'Fine, _one_ drink.  I'll send this with a messenger, give me a moment.'  He hesitated, but reached forward with his free hand, taking her goblet and pulling it towards his lips, his gloved fingers covering her bare hand as he drank from her wine, their eyes holding contact has he drank.  When Cullen released her hand and the goblet, pulling away, a dark red drop of wine remained at the corner of his mouth.  She watched the tip of his pink tongue dart out to lick it up, and froze, barely catching his next words.

'I'll be right back.'

He turned and descended the steps, and she watched him pass through the gates, an angry blush heating her neck and cheeks.

She shook her head.   _What are you thinking?  Don't look at him like that.  Cullen's your friend - and a templar.  Don't even think about it._

She turned around, looking back at Haven, the Chantry, the party, breathing deeply - her face still felt hot.  She might be able to pass of her flushed complexion as an effect of the wine, though her outward appearance wasn't the problem.

So what if she enjoyed the company of a friend?  Cullen was her friend.   _My friend,_ she told herself, _capital "F" Friend._

Downing the last of her wine, she enjoyed the bittersweet sharpness of the drink spilling down her throat.  

Cullen's hand on her bare right arm made her jump.  She could barely feel the lyrium in his veins today - did he forget to take it again?  It didn't vibrate against her bones as harshly as it had the day before.  The templars in the Inquisition drank a draught every few days, some of the older knights taking it once a day even. 

Her eyes lingered on his lips as he spoke, noticing how even one sip of wine had darkened his upper lip.  She wondered how her own mouth looked.

'I will admit,' he said, 'I do enjoy wine.  And I see you've finished yours - shall we go get more?'

She nodded, distracted, feeling her bones settle when he dropped his hand from her arm.

They found an unopened bottle of what appeared to be a Nevarran wine and giggled as they snuck it out of the party under Cullen's large coat.  They retreated to Haven's wall, sitting on one of the trebuchets, and she laughed when Cullen opened the wax seal with the blade of his sword.

'I suppose it has use outside of decoration, after all,' she teased, drawing a sip from the bottle, holding it by the neck.

'And what's that supposed to mean?' he said, taking the wine from her, their fingers brushing once more.  He drank, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

'Well, save for the mess that ensued during those few days that the Breach was vomiting demons in the valley and the Temple of Sacred Ashes was still smoking, you've really never actually _used_ that sword.  Yet you still wear it every day for the last, what, four months?'

'So?'

'Well, it's not exactly _necessary_ , is it?'

'Maybe I just _like it_.'

She narrowed her eyes, but drank anyways, her gaze remaining on his face.  A quarter of the wine was gone, and she felt warm and giddy from it.  Cullen had certainly relaxed since she coaxed him into joining her.  He said he wasn't the partying sort, so she took him away from it all, while still ensuring he enjoyed himself.  The crinkle between his brows eased into smooth skin, and his eyes were full of a light that hadn't been there before.  Color seemed to return to his face (save for the purplish-blue tint of the bags under his eyes - _that_ was a project for the future).

When the smile at his lips, the smile that pulled at the scar that marred his mouth, began to reach his eyes, something dancing in the corner of her eye turned her attention to the dark Frostbacks.  Several dozen pinpricks of orange light dotted the hillsides.

Panic flared in her chest.  'Cullen, what's that?'

He turned to look, and abruptly stood, the bottle of wine falling to the ground.  He leaned down, strong hands pulling her to her feet, alarm writ across his face.

'Get to Haven, get your staff - quick!' he said, and took her hand, pulling her off the trebuchet and urging her toward the village.

'Why?  What are you hearing?  Cullen, what's out there?'  She grabbed his coat and forced him to look at her.

'A marching song, boots on the ground, please, Disci - it's an army,' he said, taking her hand again, squeezing it in the space between their chests.  ' _Go_.  I'll warn our army, sound the bells - get your staff, get Cassandra and Leliana.'

With a last push, they separated, and Cullen ran for the soldier's post while the Disciple rushed to her tent, taking her staff and leaving the rest of her belongings behind.

As she entered Haven, staff in hand, the villagers and soldiers were already in a frenzy.  Her eyes sought Adaar and Cassandra - she found them in front of the Chantry, already headed towards the gate, Leliana and Josephine behind them.  Through the crowd of panicked people, she saw the rest of the inner circle rush forward to the gate.  The Disciple turned, and saw Cullen slip through the gates just as they closed.

' _This_ is why I always carry my sword,' he said, though no playful smile crossed his lips any longer.

Cassandra and Adaar reached them.  'Cullen?'

'It's a massive force,' he reported, 'the bulk over the mountain.'

'Under what banner?'  Josephine asked as she approached.

'None.'

Adaar drew closer to the gates, only to jump back as something slammed against it from the other side.  The Disciple watched, staff at the ready, her ice sword already summoned as Adaar suddenly opened the gates.

Several dead warriors lay on the ground.  One, big and burly, fell to his knees.  Behind him a teenager stood, daggers in hand, a wide-brimmed hat hiding his face.

Cullen, Adaar, and the Disciple rushed forward, towards the boy.  He looked up, and the Disciple could see his face.  Something wasn't natural with the way he moved, the way he looked.  Her eyes sought his ghostly pale lips as he turned to speak to Adaar.

'I'm Cole,' the boy said, 'I came to warn you, to help - people are coming to hurt you, you probably already know -'

Adaar said something, and the boy drew closer, leaning in.  'The Templars come to kill you.'

Cullen rushed forward, and she saw his angry expression.  The boy jumped back at whatever words Cullen said, threatened by him.  She caught the last sentences when he turned to Adaar.

'Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages?  Attacking blindly?'

Cole responded.  'The Red Templars went to the Elder One,' he turned to Adaar, 'you know him?  He knows you - you took his mages,' he said, then turned to point to the hills.  Everyone looked to where he pointed.  At the crest of the hill across the lake, a man and a - thing - stood, watching as the army of templars encroached on Haven.

The Disciple looked to Adaar, who looked to the Commander.  'Cullen, give me a plan - anything!' she said, her brow furrowed.

'Haven is no fortress,' he said, 'if we are to withstand this monster we must control the battle.  Get out there and hit that force.  Use anything you can.'

Cullen then drew his sword, turning to the soldiers that were gathering from the valley, returning to Haven to aid in the fortification.  He spared a glance to the Disciple for only a second, before speaking to his soldiers, issuing orders.  'Mages!  You have sanction to engage them!  That is Samson, he will not make it easy.  Inquisition!  With the Herald!  For your lives - for all of us!'

The Disciple watched Adaar as she turned to her companions.  'Disciple, Blackwall, Bull, Dorian - with me!  Sera and Varric, take the high ground and take them out if they get too close to Haven.  Vivienne, Cassandra, Solas:  I need you guarding the gate.  Don't let a single thing through.  I'm going to load the trebuchets.'  Adaar  turned and ran down the path to where the trebuchets were stored, her companions close behind.  The Disciple watched in horror as the templars met them.

Now she understood what Cole meant when he said "red templars."

They were _literally_ red.  Flashbacks of Redcliffe passed through her mind as she saw the men with red crystals growing from their necks, their arms, anywhere.  These weren't the rebel templars they fought in the Hinterlands.  The red lyrium made them stronger, it made them fight harder, and harder to kill.

She froze the first one she saw into a solid block of ice, watching Blackwall as he cleaved his sword through the foe.

Half a dozen more red templars attacked them, swords and shields poised.

The Disciple cast down a bolt of electricity on another, sending blasts of ice and fury from her staff.  When a red templar came too close to her, she used Fade cloak to avoid the swing of the templar's sword, piercing her own sword of ice through a chink in his armor when she rematerialized.  She froze him, drew a glyph and punched it, electrocuting the frozen body of the templar.  He exploded in a shower of ice and meat.

She searched for Adaar, finding her fending off a red templar with the sharp end of her bow.  The Disciple cast a barrier spell around Adaar, and froze the red templar, shouting to her Herald: "Load the trebuchet!  I've got your back!'

Adaar nodded, leaping onto the wooden trebuchet platform.  She used Fade-step to dash forward, standing before the trebuchet, killing any of the red templars what so much as looked at Adaar.

More than a dozen red templars fell under her spells by the time the trebuchet released, throwing a massive burning stone into the mountainside.  She watched as an avalanche of snow and rock crashed down the slope, burying half the red templar army in the valley.  Her heart sunk for the dead Inquisition soldiers who were still in the valley - whether it was the templars that slaughtered them, or the avalanche. 

The avalanche would put them at an advantage.  It bought them time, as now the rest of the army would have to climb over the rocks and snow and debris to meet them.

Adaar leapt down from the trebuchet, and Iron Bull clapped her on the back.  They shared triumphant smiles, and Adaar pulled her Disciple into a one-armed hug.

That was about how long their victory lasted.

The trebuchet exploded in a shower of flame.  Above, the massive wings of a dragon beat against the air as it flew overhead.  A flurry of curses and noise vibrated from the Disciple's throat.  She turned to her Herald.

'Retreat to Haven!'  she shouted, pointing her bow towards Haven's gates.  Soldiers followed her direction, running ahead.  Dorian, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Adaar, and the Disciple waited until they were clear before they made their own retreat.  As they ran, the Disciple watched the dragon soar overhead, spitting fire.

They were the last to the gates.  Cullen was there, urging them forward, through the gates, closing the heavy doors behind them.  Immediately, he ascended the steps.  'We need everyone back to the Chantry, it's the only building that might hold against that beast!  At this point, just make them work for it.'

He ran ahead, and Adaar led her nine companions back to the Chantry, saving villagers from fire as they retreated.  Red templars infiltrated the gates, swarming them.  All ten of them held their own, killing every last red templar, until finally, they pushed through the Chantry doors, several soldiers and villagers with them.

It was Chancellor Roderick who held the door open for them, collapsing when he tried pulling it closed.  Cole, the boy who warned them, caught him, and the Disciple rushed to close and latch the doors.  Chancellor Roderick was injured - she saw the blood on the stones.

Cullen approaching Adaar caught her attention.  She knelt down next to Roderick, a healing spell already at her fingertips, pressing her hand to the wound while watching them speak.

'That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.'

Cole spoke, turning his head, and she watched him as her hand became wet with Roderick's blood.

'I've seen an Archdemon.  I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.'

'I don't _care_ what it looks like, its cut a path for that army!' Cullen said, 'they'll kill everyone in Haven!'

'The Elder One doesn't care about the villagers,' Cole continued, 'He only wants the Herald.'

'If it means everyone else makes it out,' Adaar said, 'he can have me.'

'It won't.  He wants to kill you, no one else matters but he'll crush them, kill them anyway.  I don't like him.'

'You don't like -' Cullen cut himself off, exasperated.  'Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable.  The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche.  If you could the remaining trebuchet, cause one last slide -'

'We're overrun!' Adaar replied, 'to hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven!'

'We're dying,' Cullen said, and the Disciple saw only a flash of fear under his mask of authority, 'but we can decide how.  Many don't get that choice.'

In the corner of her eye, Roderick and Cole shared a look, as if they were reading each others' minds as their mouths did not move.  She turned to look at Cole, withdrawing her hand from Roderick's wound.  She did all she could - the wound would stop bleeding him out for now, but so much internal damage had been done already, it was simply a matter of time.

'Yes, that,' Cole said to Roderick, then turned to Adaar and Cullen, 'Chancellor Roderick can help.  He wants to say it before he dies.'

Her eyes flicked to Roderick's lips.  'There is a path,' he started, 'you wouldn't know it unless you made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.  The people can escape.  She must have shown me - Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you.'

'What do you mean?'  Adaar asked, kneeling before the slowly dying man.

'It was whim that I walked the path, I did not mean to start, it was overgrown. . .now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers. . .I don't know, Herald.  If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident - _you_ could be more.'

Adaar swallowed, her brows tightly furrowed.  She kept her gaze on Roderick as she spoke.  'Cullen.  Will it work?'

He knelt down next to her, before Roderick.  'Possibly, if he shows us the path.  But Adaar - what of your escape?'

She looked down, away, anywhere but Cullen's gaze.

'Perhaps you will. . .surprise it,' he said, and stood, walking off to give orders to his soldiers as Cole helped Roderick stand.  

The Disciple moved to stand as well, but Adaar placed her hand on her knee.  She met her gaze, staring into her deep amethyst eyes, only to look lower when Adaar tapped her own lips.

'You stood by my side through everything,' she said, 'I need you to do it one last time.'

Adaar was afraid, and it was plain to see.  Afraid of failing the people of Haven, of failing the Inquisition.  She feared dying.  But for them, she would sacrifice herself.

And for her, the Disciple would sacrifice it all.

'Until my last breath,' she said, 'I am yours.'

Adaar nodded, and pressed their foreheads together.  When she pulled away and stood, Cullen approached them.

'They'll load the trebuchets,' he said, keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line.  If we are to have a chance, if _you_ are to have a chance - let that thing hear you.'

Adaar nodded, and turned to call for Bull, Blackwall, and Dorian.  Cullen looked on as the solemn party prepared for their fate with feigned hope, knowing full well that they may likely die.  When the Disciple moved to leave with Adaar, Cullen reached out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around to face him.

Startled, she tried to speak, but he placed something over her head, letting it settle around her neck.

'Insurance,' he said, and his gloved hands lingered on her shoulders.  'I want that back.'

The amulet's chain was warm from contact with his skin.

Unable to bring herself to lie for his sake, she nodded, and stepped back, letting his hands fall in the empty space between them.  She forced herself to not look back to see his face as she followed Adaar out of the Chantry.  She did not want to see his guard fall, she did not want to imagine what could have been, she couldn't let herself entertain the thought of his wine stained lips under hers, more than friends, more than mage and templar.  She was the Herald's Disciple, she was a rebel mage, she was nobody's daughter, nobody's lover, a woman without a past who would die for what she believed in.

And die, she would.

* * *

 

Haven was burning.  Red templars and hopeless Inquisition soldiers fought in the bloodstained streets, and the party of five did all they could to help as they made their way to the last trebuchet.  The enemy was slowly wearing them down.  Iron Bull was bleeding, and Blackwall fought through a swollen eye from a pommel strike.  Both the Disciple and Dorian were gasping for lack of mana, desperately in need of lyrium.  Adaar fought on, her stamina and resolve pushing her forward against the red templars.

As they neared the last trebuchet, the ground shook under their feet.  Twisting to see, using her staff to keep her balanced, the Disciple watched a fearsome, towering behemoth stagger towards them.  Its height was greater than twice that of Iron Bull, its body made almost entirely of crystals of red lyrium.

'What the _fuck_ is that?' she shouted, and drew her last reserves of energy into an ice spell to slow the gargantuan creature.

She cast, and the ice spell took well to the behemoth - it must have been especially vulnerable to cold spells - and froze almost the whole thing in a thick covering of ice.  Iron Bull launched himself at the behemoth, while Adaar and Dorian focused on the swarm of red templars that followed it.  Blackwall and the Disciple lead a double-team of swords and ice against the behemoth's legs.  The red lyrium crystals acted as armor, and were hard to break, much like the hard crystals of ice that encapsulated her arm and protected her head like a wreath of thorns. 

They fended off the red templars while Adaar re-aimed the trebuchet.  When no more red templars attacked, the behemoth finally fell under Iron Bull's axe, a moment of stillness ensued. 

The dragon flying overhead turned, suddenly diving towards them.  Adaar turned on her heel, shouting at them, _'Move!  Now!'_

They ran, the fiery breath of the dragon following them.  The Disciple ran as fast as her exhausted legs could carry her, the others struggling just as much to catch up.  The dragon pursued them its hot breath burning her skin, making the air crackle with heat.  Her right side itched at the memory, and fear stabbed her like a frozen blade in the stomach.   _No_ , she thought, _not again._

When she had enough mana, she cast a barrier around the party.  They had ran well past Haven, as far as the dragon chased them, until it stopped to circle back.  But they were all there, right?   _Why did it fly back -_

She screamed Adaar's name when she couldn't find the woman.  She ran forward, her screams ripping her throat, until Iron Bull's large hands grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back, away from where Haven burned, and Adaar faced the Elder One and the Archdemon alone.

She was supposed to be by Adaar's side.  If Adaar died, she would be there to ensure she did not die alone.  And Adaar had sent her away, made her run while she stayed.

The Disciple kicked and screamed, her throat feeling raw as she pushed the vibrations from her mouth, but Iron Bull simply carried her over his shoulder as they ran to the hidden path from Haven, the last survivors to evacuate.

They passed the tree line, where Sera stood with her bow.  She and Blackwall shared a look, and Sera nodded.  Dorian ignited Sera's flaming arrow, and she took aim towards the sky, releasing the arrow.

Like a shooting star, it darted across the sky before going out, bright and quick.

Iron Bull still held onto her as they watched the valley, though she no longer thrashed against his hold.  She sat nestled in her friend's comforting embrace as tears filled her eyes.  The last trebuchet fired, the projectile hitting its mark on the mountain above Haven.  The dragon - the Archdemon - flew into the sky as the avalanche buried Haven, destroying the last of the red templars, and sealing Adaar's fate.

* * *

The rest of Adaar's inner circle waited for them, save for Cullen and Leliana who led the exodus.  The Iron Bull passed the Disciple onto Cassandra, allowing the two friends to mourn together.  She walked, bearing much of her weight on her staff, with Cassandra at her side, their shoulders brushing as they held vigil while they marched on.  There would be time later to properly mourn all that was lost in Haven, in the valley - not only Adaar, but unknown numbers of soldiers, the injured, helpless villagers who fell under Red Templar blades.  Sister Cadence was in the valley at the field hospital.  Now, she would never leave.

She could physically feel the pain.  It manifested in her lungs, stabbing her ribs with tiny daggers each time she breathed, burning her heart with each step forward.

Blackwall mourned in his own way.  When the avalanche buried Haven, he lashed out against a tree trunk, his sword cutting furious gashes into the bark.  It took Sera's calming hand to relax him, pull him from his rage.  He did not meet the Disciple's understanding gaze, nor her his.  They never really talked before.  They didn't know each other.

Wind picked the snow off the ground, blowing it in harsh gusts that threatened to topple her over.  The march slowed, eventually coming to a stop when the blizzard strengthened.  They had barely enough supplies gathered - three dozen makeshift tents and barely enough food rations for everyone, loaded on carts pulled by druffalo carrying other crates full of necessary items.  They could survive, barely, if they had any clue as to where they were going.

The villagers and soldiers huddled together under blankets around fires lit by mages.  Tents were erected to provide cover for the injured, just ramshackle lean-tos of canvas that blocked the wind but not the cold.

To deflect the cold, the Disciple coated herself in frost, creating an insular layer that kept heat in.  Her blankets, cloak, bedroll, and pack were all buried with Haven.  Let the others have what blankets, what warmth, that the Inquisition could provide.  They needed it.

Though she heard not the whispers and the solemn news that spread of the Herald's demise, the mood she felt merely from watching the peoples' body language spoke volumes.  She watched a young elf, barely old enough for the Inquisition's army, sitting still on a rock, her knees pulled to her chest as she stared into the flames of the growing fire.  Another soldier approached, gently wrapping his blanket around her shoulders.  The people took turns with their blankets, took turns with who sat next to the fires and who stood a ways behind.

Walking away from the center of the small village of tents and fires the Inquisition had built, she kicked snow away from a spot on the ground.  There she knelt, letting her armor of frost and ice fall away.

How she wished she could summon flame.  Even a spark, some light to take the place of a candle.  So she knelt, her elbow braced over her knee, her hand clenched in a fist pressed against her forehead.

The prayer came from deep within her mind, its light shining forward, exhaled from her lips in soft breaths.   _'Draw your last breath, my friends.  Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  Rest at the Maker's right hand, And be Forgiven.'_

The wind buffeted her skin, blowing her hair in long locks around her neck, across her face.  She felt Sister Cadence wipe away her tears, soft thumbs and gentle touches from years in the Chantry.  She felt the press of Adaar's forehead on hers, feeling her warmth, her large, calloused hands at the back of her neck.  She felt their love, she need their love, their presence - but they were at the Maker's side now.  Their deaths, their sacrifice, would drive her to live.  The Maker spared her life a second time, and she would use it now in His service, in Adaar's, to protect Thedas at any cost.

She rose to her feet.  Her right knee was cold and wet from being pressed into the snow, but she gave it no notice.  it was insignificant to the cold that crept through her ribcage.

When she turned, she saw Cullen approaching her, a blanket in his arms.  The Disciple realized she hadn't seen her friend since she left the Chantry in Haven.  Wold had obviously spread that she and the others had survived - without Adaar - as he dew closer to her his expression was not of relief, or surprise, but rather compassion, and empathy.

Cullen unfolded the blanket, and without speaking a word, he draped it around her shoulders, pulling the loose gathering from across her back over her head like a hood, keeping the wold wind and snow from further chilling her ears and half-bald head.  For the quickest of moments, the pads of his gloved fingers touched her cheeks, framing her jaw, before they fell away.  Cullen's mouth was a hard line, his lips thin and unmoving.  The wind had blown hard against his face, reddening his nose, forehead, cheeks, and ears.  His eyes were tired, the skin under and around them dark and exhausted.  The wrinkles between his eyebrows and on his forehead had returned, and doubled in the stress of Haven's evacuation.

They stood inches apart.  His body shielded the wind from buffeting her, as his silhouette was both taller and wider than hers.  When she looked down, her hand was flat over his heart on his breastplate, his own keeping the blanket wrapped around her like a cloak.

'Where are we going?' she said suddenly.  Cullen, to his great effort, seemed to mask the confusion that deepened the wrinkles of his brow.  'I mean - the Inquisition.  Where _are_ we?  Where can we possibly go?  We're not exactly popular and without the Herald. . .'

Cullen looked to the side, where the camp continued to glow in the mountain pass.  His deep brown eyes darkened, and his lips parted in an aborted word, pressed together, then opened again.  'We're not exactly sure where we are at all.  Roderick collapsed half a mile back, and we're - well, we can't look to him for direction anymore.'

She hung her head.  Another dying, another prayer to be read.

Cullen's hand was gentle as he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.  She stepped forward, pressing her face into his fur collar, allowing him to wrap his arms protectively around her shoulders.

Her throat felt tight and raw as she breathed great uneven breaths.  Her lungs spasmed of their own accord, against her desires, as her eyes burned and tears wetted her cheeks, dampening the rough fur Cullen wore.  The hood of the blanket slid off her head as he buried his face in her hair, his breath warm and even on her neck.

Suddenly, Cullen pulled away, his warmth leaving her.  She made a small noise of protest, until he pointed behind her.  She spun around, and in the mountain pass, was a figure of a horned person crawling on hands and knees through the snow.

Without thinking for a second, the Disciple ran to her, nearly tripping in the heavy snowdrifts.  She fell to her knees at Adaar's side, cupping the woman's chin in her hand.

Her eyes closed as she fell unconscious from exhaustion.  The Disciple cried for Cullen's help as he followed her, pulling Adaar up under her armpits while the Disciple took her ankle in her hand and the other in a frozen grip.  Together, they carried her towards the camp as Cullen yelled, his mouth wide and moving quick.  Soldiers rushed to meet them, a stretcher in their hands.  Cullen and the Disciple placed Adaar on the stretcher and walked by her side to a mostly unoccupied tent.

Time moved rapidly, events blurring as she summoned a healing aura and went to work on Adaar's various injuries.  Mother Giselle arrived with fire-warmed blankets, laying them over Adaar's body to flush out the chill.

Her fingers hesitated over Adaar's face, unbelieving.  How had she possibly survived?  How did she find them?  She wanted to believe it was the Maker's guidance, but even He could only save one person so many times.

An hour passed with the Disciple kneeling at her Herald's side before Mother Giselle shoed her away.  'Eat, child,' she chided, 'it's been hours since you took care of yourself.  Adaar is fine, she only needs to rest.'

Grudgingly, she stood and left the Herald's tent.  She walked past where the strange boy Cole watched over Roderick's dying body.  Dorian was the first familiar face she found, and he forced bread and water upon her before letting her continue on.

She found Cullen in conversation with Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra; the four of them gestured wildly and their faces were angry.  The Disciple sat on a crate, her knees bulled to her chest.  She had long since passed her blanket on to a lonely boy, and the wind blew through her clothes, chilling her skin.  She liked some cold, but wind?  No, the wind was far too much.

The argument broke.  Cassandra stormed off, and Josephine and Leliana leaned against each other on a bench made of crates.  Cullen, of course, found his way to her.  He sat next to her, hanging his head low, rubbing his temples with his thumbs in tight circles.

The atmosphere changed.  She looked up, watching as Adaar and Mother Giselle stood outside Adaar's tent.  She couldn't make out the words Mother Giselle spoke, but soon others began to slowly migrate towards both holy figures, their mouths moving in synchronization.  The Disciple looked to Cullen.  He raised his head, his lips moving, forming words.  HIs eyes were closed, relaxed instead of shut tight.

_'For one day soon, the dawn will come.'_

She knew this song.  Deep in her heart, in the part of her that had been hidden away, a spark of a memory flared, the song ringing out within her mind.

Like she had done before, in the Chantry that angry night, she reached out, her bare fingertips seeking the stubbled flesh of Cullen's throat.  His eyes flew open in shock, but when he saw her lips silently following the words, he did not hesitate, and continued singing.  The vibrations in his throat reverberated on her fingertips.

_'Bare your blade, and raise it high.'_

_'Stand your ground,'_ she whispered, _'the dawn will come.'_

_'The night is long, and the path is dark.  Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.'_

The air was thick as their eyes remained on each others' lips.

* * *

 

At the first light of dawn, the Inquisition packed up once more, marching through snowy passes under Solas and Adaar's direction.  They marched for hours, stopping only as dusk fell.  Supplies were low, and rarely would they consume what rations they had.  Hunger had the Disciple nearly doubled over in pain.  She leaned on her staff as exhaustion hit her, and the moment a bedroll was available to her, she lay down, asleep in an instant.

She would wake before dawn, Adaar curled on her own bedroll next to her.  Her left arm was bound in a sling, and she lay on her right side, silver hair spilled out in a fan behind her.  She breathed.   _Maker, seeing her alive is almost unbelievable_ , she thought, and stood, taking up her staff and wandering the camp.  The sky was dark, the eastern horizon just beginning to turn a deep blue.  The sky had been clear that night, and stars dotted the black sky.  Behind them, the hole in the sky where the Breach had been was dark and dormant.  Realization hit her like a wave - they had escaped the Elder One, bested his army of red templars, sealed the Breach, and the Herald had lived through it despite all odds.  The Inquisition had a fighting chance.  The Inquisition could _make it._

If only they survived this journey to Maker-knows where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me guys! Please tell me what you think so far?

**Author's Note:**

> This work is experimental for me. It's been awhile since I've written anything, especially since I received a concussion related to sports, and words haven't come as easily to me ever since. I'm slowly gaining that ability back, so this is more of an exercise than anything. Updates may not be regular, so I'm sorry for that.  
> This work is un-beta'd, so if you see a mistake, please let me know!


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